


tumblr prompts

by kremlin



Series: tumblr shorts and prompts [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, MAAS Sarah J. - Works, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Love, M/M, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-03-12 15:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 32,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13549986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kremlin/pseuds/kremlin
Summary: A collection of prompts and one-shots, mostly Feysand and Nessian.





	1. No place like Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feysand

Feyre was beat.

She rummaged in her shopper for the spare key Rhys had given her just recently, but there was no finding the damn thing between her laptop, loose papers, her make-up purse, a book she had picked up from the library earlier, spare panties and socks, three chapsticks, the occasional stray ballpoint pen that had escaped the confinement of her pencil case and a thumb drive she thought she’d lost.

Defeated, Feyre dropped her bags, the bag with groceries she’d promised Rhys to pick on her way from uni and her shopper containing her life, and rang the doorbell.

Rhys opened the door with a curious look on his face, which instantly dissolved into a loving smile as he took her in.

“Hello there, darling,” he purred and placed a chaste kiss onto her lips.  

Feyre gave a bleak smile in return. “Hey.”

Rhys searched her tired face, a frown forming between his brows, and wordlessly picked up the bags from the ground.

“Dinner will be ready in 15, you go relax on the couch,” he said, softly closing the door and pressing a kiss to her temple in passing. Feyre gave a tired nod and dragged herself to the living room, flopping onto the couch head first.

Her week had been hell.

Work had been crazy, her classes had suddenly picked up pace with finals approaching, and Rowan had dumped a stack of research papers on her to plough through and summarize until next week. She’d need to put some hours in over the weekend.

On top of the mental exhaustion, she was feeling the effects of commuting between her and Rhys’ place and the university. Feyre had started to live out of her bag; she was prepared to sleep over at any time at any place. She had been tempted to simply stay in the library after a long day more than once, if only the sofas had been a bit more comfortable.

But her well-equipped bag came with a price and currently that price was stiff neck, lower back pain and aching feet from carrying the heavy luggage around all day. As much as she loved sleeping over at her boyfriend’s several times a week, but still keeping her own apartment, she hated the physical strain that came with it.

Feyre felt the couch dip under Rhys’ weight and broad, experienced hands started gently rubbing her tired shoulders. It felt heavenly and Feyre groaned her appreciation, making Rhys chuckle darkly behind her.

“Could I interest you in some food, or should I continue rubbing?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

“Rub with one hand and shove some food in my mouth with the other,” Feyre demanded, her voice muffled, because her face was buried in the couch seat.

Rhys chuckled and worked his way down her back. Feyre felt him lean down to her, his breath tickling the back of her neck. “Any other places you want me to rub?” he asked, placing a little kiss right behind her ear.

She wanted him to, like really wanted him to, but she was just so damn tired.

Turning her head, she found Rhys’ face hovering next to hers and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. “Maybe later.”

Rhys hummed and stood up, holding his hands out to her. “Come on. Let’s shove some food into your mouth. And then afterwards, I’ll give you a proper massage.”

Feyre smiled and took his hand.

~

Daenerys touched the red-hot ornate rim of the brazier, about to push it over and burn the congregation gathered before her to a crisp, and normally that scene of the Queen burning down the Khaals in their temples had Rhys catch his breath every single time, but he was distracted by an even more breathtaking sight – Feyre was drooling onto his chest, her mouth hanging slightly open. Rhys was just so in love.

After dinner, he had massaged the stone-hard muscles in her neck and shoulders, cringing at their stiffness on her behalf. Rhys had known she was carrying around a lot of stuff on a daily basis, alternating between his and her place ever other night or so, but he’d only realized how heavy that bag was, when he had lifted it up for her earlier. It must be several kilos!

Rhys had originally intended to seduce her with a sexy massage, but her tired face and the exhausted slope of her shoulders had convinced him otherwise. So he had declared a GoT-rerun and they had snuggled onto the couch, content to hold Feyre against his chest, run his fingers through that beautiful caramel-colored hair he dearly loved, and place a little kiss on the top of her head every so often.

Which had caused her to promptly fall asleep around the end of the first episode or so, but Rhys hadn’t had the heart to wake her.

She’d looked so tired earlier, and Rhys didn’t know how else to help her, but cook her dinner and hug her close. Feyre was ambitious, she would never accept his help for her work, be it school or her part-time job, so all he could do was make sure, she was comfortable when at home. Only the home situation seemed to be somewhat of a problem lately, seeing that she had to carry around a boatload of stuff around in that giant bag of hers every day.

Feyre shifted and smacked her lips in her sleep, making a sound that was so adorable, Rhys was sure he’d die from feeling too much fondness for the woman in his arms.

He loved her.

He hadn’t told her yet, they had only been dating for a few months, but damn he loved her. 

He loved the way she looked when she woke up next to him in the morning, her make-up smudged, because she had been too lazy to wipe it off the night before, he loved the way she frowned into her laptop and nibbled on that plump bottom lip of hers while working, hair pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head, sitting amidst the chaos she made wherever she worked. He loved the way she snorted or rolled her eyes at him when she thought he was being ridiculous. He loved the way she blushed, he lived to make her blush at least once a day, because nothing compared to the way her skin turned pink, setting off the small smattering of freckles around her nose and her blue-grey eyes, that grew warm and sparkly.

And most of all he loved how relaxed she’d grown to be around him, especially as she now started snoring softly.

He couldn’t believe that that feisty little fairy that turned up for their tinder data a few months back, the woman that had been so careful and guarded, could now relax around him to a point where she drooled and snored in his presence. He didn’t know whom he had to thank for this gift that was her presence in his life, but he’d gladly thank each and every god and deity there was for having been able to meet this wonderful person.  

Rhys listened to Feyre’s snoring, completely enraptured with the sight and sound of his girlfriend sleeping in his arms. Only his worry about her exhausted state cast a shadow at his bliss. He didn’t like her to suffer in any capacity. He wanted to make her happy.

Feyre’s snoring grew louder with every breath she took, until she woke with a start after a particular noisy one. Rhys chuckled at her confused, sleep-addled state and smoothed some hair away from her face. Feyre immediately closed her eyes and leaned into the touch, making his heart swell even more.

“Move in with me,” he blurted out.

Feyre raised her head and looked at him, her eyes still hazy with sleep. “What?”

Rhys swallowed nervously. He hadn’t wanted to ask her - not this soon and not this way - but he repeated, “Move in with me. Better, let’s find a place for the two of us to move in together. Because I can’t stand you looking this tired and exhausted. And because I want to be with you every day.”

Feyre remained silent, looking at him with big eyes that grew clearer and more awake with every passing second. And then she reached up and pressed her lips to his in a kiss that was so sweet and filled with love, it sent his heart soaring.

“Okay!”


	2. Nap Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nessian

Cassian heard a door creak open followed by the soft pitter-patter of naked feet in the hallway and fought to contain his smile. Seemed like someone was up from their nap.

Nesta appeared in the doorway to the living room, clad in a ratty, long sweater of dubious age and a pair of leggings, her half-closed eyes puffy and swollen from sleep. She dragged herself over to him towards the couch and Cassian put the book he had been reading aside, curious to see what she would do next. 

To his utter and complete surprise, she crawled on top of him and lay down, resting her head against his stomach and shifted to get comfortable before closing her eyes with a little unintelligible mumble.

Cassian chuckled and the mumble turned a tad indignated when the vibration of his chuckle caused her head to be given a good shake.

“Sweetheart, you still asleep?” Cassian asked and slid a hand under her hair to wrap it around the nape of her neck. Her skin felt warm and slightly sweaty, but not feverish.

“Yesh,” she murmured sleepily with closed eyes.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me,” Cassian chided softly, stroking her neck with his thumb. 

Nesta produced another noise that might have been words or simply a sequence of sleepy protest sounds. It was so adorable, Cassian was afraid his heart would explode in his chest, because it was beating too fast.

They had been a couple for a few years now, but moments like this, when Nesta was completely unguarded for once, still threw him off his game completely. He had waited patiently for her to drop her shields around him for so long, teasing and coaxing her to lure her out of her shell, that he was simply overwhelmed when, occasionally, she was being candid and sweet like this. 

Cassian was still marveling at the sight of his girlfriend sprawled over him, when her breathing evened out suspiciously and she relaxed into him further, her body growing slack and heavy on top of his.

“Sweetheart, wake up,” he laughed, jostling her awake with his rumbling chest. 

“Huh?” Nesta woke with a start and smacked her lips, keeping the drool at bay that had been about to escape her. Cassian shook with silent laughter. Really, how could someone be that cute while drooling?

“You need to wake up. We’re meeting with your sisters for dinner, do you remember?” he asked, still laughing, running one hand over her hair, while he reached for his phone with the other. “And we can’t cancel. Amren already did. Wait, let me check -” 

Cassian stretched out one arm towards the coffee table, trying to reach his phone. It was too far away, so he held Nesta in place with his other arm, making sure she wouldn’t slide off him while he angled his body slightly, painstakingly dragging his phone closer with his fingertips before he could finally palm the device. 

Nesta let out something between a purr and a hiss, annoyed that her sleep was disturbed by Cassian’s egregious need for information and the thereby resulting movement of his body. She let out another protest sound when she was again jostled around by Cassian’s rumbling chest, because he just couldn’t help but laugh at how adorable she was being. He had never seen her like this and adorable was usually not a word he used to describe Nesta. Beautiful, devastating, terrifying - yes. But not adorable.

Nesta raised her head, threw him a dirty look that completely missed the mark, because instead of glaring, she simply blinked at him with hazy eyes. And then she pressed her face into his chest and muttering something under her breath.

Cassian considered proposing to her there and then. Not that he had a ring or had even thought about proposing to her before this. But right that very moment, he felt that he should, because his heart was overflowing with love for the woman, whose breath was slowly warming the spot on his chest where her mouth was pressed into his shirt, the cloth growing damp and hot from her breath. 

Instead, he unlocked his phone and read her Amren’s message in their group chat. 

“Ok, so Amren said, she unfortunately can’t make it, because she forgot that she had planned a party at her place and doesn’t want to uninvite the 30 people she invited,” he quoted.

Nesta slowly raised her head from his chest and stared at him blankly, blinking like an owl. Cassian could see the gears turn in her head. She was quiet for several heartbeats longer than it should’ve taken for her to process this piece of information.

“That’s a lie. Amren doesn’t like having people over at her place,” she finally said with a frown. Cassian burst into full-blown laughter and pressed a kiss to her head.

“No shit! How did you come to this conclusion?” he chuckled. 

Nesta’s frown deepened. “Well Amren doesn’t like people and -”

She didn’t get to say the rest of her sentence, because Cassian pressed his lips to hers, still bubbling with laughter.

“I know. Seems like sarcasm doesn’t work on you when you’re this sleepy.”

Nesta’s lips formed a little round  _ O _ , showing her surprise, but then she simply dismissed what they were talking about and rested her head on top of his chest again and shimmied her hips to get comfortable.

Cassian began stroking her head continuously, content to just watch her and enjoy the moment, but he couldn’t shake the small feeling of unease that was eating away at him. As much as he found her current behavior endearing, it was weird. 

Actually, now that he was thinking about it, Nesta had been behaving weirdly in general. He had caught her staring into the distance, looking at nothing, more often than not the last couple of weeks, she had been uncharacteristically forgetful and distracted, and she had started napping a lot whenever she could, like she had today. 

“Sweetheart?” Cassian asked softly.

Nesta flinched and opened her eyes. She had actually fallen asleep on him again. “Hm?”

Cassian cradled the back of her head and angled his own head, so he could peer into her face. “Nes, you’ve been weird lately. Is everything alright? Do you have problems at work? You know you can tell me if something is wrong, right?”

Nesta sighed and crawled upwards on him, so she could press her face to his neck, placing a tender kiss to his jaw. “Everything is fine. I’m just so tired lately,” she assured him.

But Cassian didn’t relent. “Why though? Are you sick? Is that it?” 

“I’m not sick.”

Cassian didn’t see it, but he could hear the smile in her voice, which left him somewhat relieved. 

Nesta’s hand roamed over his chest as if looking for something. She slid her hand over his shoulder and down his arm, grasping his wrist and pulling his hand towards her. Letting go, she intertwined their fingers and placed their joint hands on her belly, giving another sigh.

“I’m pregnant.”


	3. Picking up Your Scent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Person A coming back from a business trip without telling Person B and the Pure Happiness when B wakes up and sees A’s face after so so long”  
> Feysand

Feyre turned the key as silently and carefully as she could and pushed the door open with the same care. She didn’t want to make too much noise in case Rhys was still asleep.

Considering it was 6:30am on a Saturday, he likely was.

She had missed him so much, she hadn’t been able to stand another night without Rhys. So instead of taking the flight her company had booked her for later on this day, Feyre had caught a red-eye back to Velaris, hoping to surprise her boyfriend with freshly baked bagels - and herself.

Picking up her suitcase instead of rolling it, she carried it inside, shedding her coat and shoes quickly and quietly before making her way to the bedroom on silent feet. Cracking the door open, she peeked inside. As she had assumed, Rhys was sleeping, his breathing even and heavy.

Feyre smiled and dared to crack the door open wider, slipping into the room and inching closer to the bed.

Rhys lay on his side, his stupidly handsome face turned towards her. Seeing him like that, his normally carefully-styled hair a wild jumble of midnight black strands sticking up in every direction, his shapely lips slightly parted, face completely relaxed and unguarded for once, the realization of just how much she had missed him came crashing down on her.

Especially when she took in what he was cradling against his chest.

Feyre had laughed a good deal last week when Mor had come to pick her up for their business trip, bringing along a gift for her brooding cousin. It was a most peculiar pillow: it came with a complete stuffed arm attached to the rectangular cushion and it was even dressed in a shirt. The sleeper was meant to lay down on the pillows arm, like he would on his partners.

Mor and Feyre had continued laughing at Rhys, who had glowered at them, not happy about the joke and Feyre leaving, but he hadn’t commented. Instead, he had tossed the pillow carelessly somewhere behind him, flicked Mor off and kissed Feyre goodbye so thoroughly, she had been left breathless.

Now, Feyre stared at him in wonder, tears stinging her eyes.

The pillow was no longer wearing the crappy shirt it had come with, but one of Rhys’ own. Feyre immediately recognized it as the one she had been wearing for sleep before she had left. Rhys must’ve dressed the pillow in it, because it’d smelled like her.

Actually, the whole bedroom smelled suspiciously strong like her perfume. Feyre took a whiff and smelled a well-known rose heart note. Having used it for years now, the could barely smell her own perfume anymore. To be able to scent it, the room must be drenched in her perfume. To confirm her suspicion, she spotted a small flacon on the bedside table. It wasn’t hers, so Rhys must’ve procured a bottle for himself, probably spritzing it on the pillow before he slept.

The whole situation tugged at her heartstrings and she felt her chest grow tight, squeezing the air out of her lungs. She loved him so much, she couldn’t bear not touching him a moment longer.

Feyre make quick work of undressing herself, only leaving on her panties - for now. She picked up one of the shirts Rhys had discarded the night before, slipping it on. Pulling the collar up to bury her nose in it, she inhaled his scent deeply. The familiar smell of citrus and jasmine caused her heart to give a pang, but it was missing something - the faint note of men she could scent when he had her nose pressed into his neck - Rhys own unique smell. She needed it, now!

Deciding to get it straight from the source, she bend over him on the bed, pushing some hairs out of his face and leaning in to press a soft kiss to his hairline, inhaling when she did. There, that was what she had been missing. The feel of his silky hair on her fingers as she run them through the strands, his warm skin under her lips, his smell.

Feyre straightened and smiled, running her fingers over his temple and cheeks in a soft caress, delighted to feel the prick of stubble that was forming on his cheeks. Rhys didn’t wake, but she hadn’t expected him to.

Withdrawing her hand momentarily, she tugged and pulled at the pillow he was clutching, softly dragging it out from under him, before she took its place, sliding under the covers and snuggling into his chest. Rhys arms tightened around her automatically and his fingers found his way into her hair, fisting it at the nape of her neck. His nose was instantly pressed against the top of her head and she felt him inhale deeply.

“Feyre,” he murmured in sleep.

Feyre responded by pressing closer, her heart about to burst with love and the excitement to finally being able to touch him, to feel his warm body against hers.

“I’m home,” she whispered, and nuzzled his chest with her cheek, closing her eyes.

* * *

 

Rhys knew he was waking up, but he simply refused to do so and to open his eyes. He didn’t want to wake up from his dream of having Feyre in his arms, only to find that he was hugging that damn pillow Mor had given him as a joke instead.

Rhys missed her so much, he felt like he had troubles breathing.

He’d been moody and irritated all weak, snapping at everyone who dared look at him for more than 3 seconds. He knew that he was behaving irrationally, that he should learn to control his temper, but he just couldn’t. Feyre was his light in the dark, the warmth he’d been missing for so long in his life. To have her suddenly gone, when he had grown so accustomed to wake up next to her in the mornings or come home in the evening to have her greet him with a smile and a kiss, was like someone had robbed the one good thing in his life and shoved him back into the dark place he’d been in before.

He knew it was only a week and he was probably being overly melodramatic, but he couldn’t help it.

At least she’d be back today, he consoled himself. And then he wouldn’t let her get out of his arms for the remainder of the weekend. Rhys was determined to glue himself to Feyre until they needed to get back to work on Monday, making up for all the quality time and skinship they’d missed that week.

With a sigh, he decided he could no longer trick himself into believing he was asleep. But before he would open his eyes, he wanted one last nose of Feyre’s perfume he’d doused the pillow in, so he could pretend he was waking up to find her in his arms.

Only when he tightened his arms around the soft cushion, it wasn’t soft at all, but instead he found he was holding a warm, heavy weight. And something like hair tickled his nose when he pressed it into what he thought was the pillow.

But it was the scent that tipped him off. This wasn’t just her perfume, but the smell of her shampoo and body wash mingled with it, as well as her own scent of woman - his woman.

Rhys teared his eyes open to be met with familiar eyes of greyish blue that regarded him with warmth.

“Good morning,” Feyre said, smiling softly.

A heartbeat later, she was on her back giving a joyous little laugh, because Rhys had rolled her over and hidden his face immediately in the junction of her shoulder and neck, breathing in her familiar scent.

“Feyre,” he pressed out, one hand twining into her soft hair while the other roamed her body, stroking her sides and stomach, making sure she was real and corporal and this wasn’t a dream.

“That’s my name,” she confirmed, hugging him and caressing his back with languid strokes.

“You’re back!”

“That I am,” she giggled. “Surprised?”

Rhys didn’t answer, but pressed a kiss onto her shoulder, then another one to the soft little hollow her collarbone made, where shoulder and neck met, and then a couple of more on her neck, working towards her jawline, all the while breathing her in, relishing the feel and touch of her and her soft, warm body under his.

He continued peppering little kisses onto every inch of her face, brushing his lips over her chin, cheeks and forehead with much tenderness. Rhys even kissed her eyelids and the tip of her nose, entirely overcome with affection and adoration.

At last, he finally covered her lips with his, eliciting a throaty, content hum from Feyre.

“Yes, I am surprised,” he said after they’d broken apart, resting his head on her shoulder and pulling her a bit closer to him, unwilling to ever let her out of his arms.

With a little secret smile, he added, “You could say, this is a dream come true.”


	4. Will You Be Our Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** Feyrhycien ***
> 
> Based on a post and consequent prompt request about being ditched by their roommate on Valentine's Day, only to be invited to third-wheel on their other roommate's date.

“Are you kidding me? You’re cancelling now?”

Lucien felt his stomach sink. She couldn’t be doing this. Not today.

Vassa looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Please Lucien. I know I promised you to spend tonight together and wallow in combined misery, but you can’t deny me the chance of true love! What if he’s the one for me?”

“You met this dude today! At Happy Hour. In. A. Bar! He’s not looking for a wife, he’s looking for someone to bang!” Lucien snapped, unable to keep his disappointment and irritation at bay.

Her eyes shuttered and a fiery spark entered them.

“So what? Maybe I want to bang too, instead of being all miserable, going on a date with my childhood friend on Valentine’s Day, because I can’t find anyone else and he’d mope around at home otherwise,” she spat and turned on her heel, grabbed her purse and stalked out their apartment with her head held high.

“Don’t come crying to me, when the dude turns out to be a creep, who wants you locked away in his cellar with all the other girls he keeps there,” Lucien shouted after his best friend and roommate.

Her words had felt like a slap in his face. Was that how she thought about him? Was he really that pathetic?

_Yes, you are_ , he answered himself and sat down on the couch, running a hand over his face. _You’re alone on Valentine’s Day and now even your friend dumped you, because she has better things to do than concern herself with your sorry ass._

Lucien wanted nothing more than to drown himself in a bottle of Whiskey and self-loathing, but just then the key turned in the door and his other roommate and his girlfriend stepped into the living room.

Rhys had just said something to make Feyre laugh, but the both of them fell silent when they saw Lucien sitting on the couch, dressed in nice pants and a pressed shirt, looking utterly miserable.

Seeing them, Lucien stifled a groan.

Right, the other reason Vassa and he had decided to spent tonight eating out together was Rhys having plans to cook a fancy, romantic dinner for his girlfriend, which, knowing the both of them, would probably end up with Feyre being the dinner and them having obnoxiously loud sex all over their shared flat.

And Vassa and him really didn’t want to be around for that, if only, because Lucien was actually crushing pretty hard on Rhys and had been ever since they met, and lately also found himself fancying his crush’s girlfriend quite a bit.

“Are you okay? Weren’t you having dinner plans with Vassa?” Rhys asked the same time as Feyre said, “You look sad. Why the hell are you looking sad?”

Lucien pressed his teeth together and didn’t comment.

Feyre and Rhys shared one of their looks that meant their were talking without talking. Rhys took the grocery bags Feyre was holding, pecked a quick kiss to her lips and sauntered towards the kitchen, probably to begin cooking the fancy dinner they’d planned.

To Lucien’s utter and complete surprise, Feyre came over to him and flopped down on the couch, her face turned fully towards him, studying his face.

Their knees were brushing up against each other and Lucien shifted a bit to avoid them touching. With her being this close, the gaze of those piercing blue-grey eyes trained on him, he felt rather self-conscious about the otherwise casual touch.

“What’s going on Luc?” she asked, placing a hand on his knee for emphasis.

Lucien swallowed nervously, less because of the question, but because of her hand on his leg, that was causing some highly inappropriate images and thoughts to bloom in his head. Thoughts one shouldn’t have about someone else’s girl.

“Change of plans. Vassa met the love of her life at some bar’s Happy Hour today,” he deadpanned.

“More like a creeper that will lock her up with a couple of other girls he already keeps in the basement,” Rhys scoffed, returning from the kitchen, carrying a bottle of wine and glasses.

Lucien gave him a wry smile. “Exactly what I said. Get out of my head Rhys.”

Rhys and Feyre laughed softly.

“No need to read your mind for that. Vassa has the worst taste in men,” Feyre giggled and took the wine that Rhys had just poured for her.

“So true! What did the last one call himself? Death God?” Rhys said in an amused voice, handing another glass of wine to Lucien, who didn’t take it, but instead regarded Rhys with a confused look.

“What?” Lucien stammered.

“You don’t want wine?” Rhys asked, cocking his head to the side.

“No, I mean yes, but no, I thought I’d just go to my room or go out or -”

Rhys chuckled and Feyre have a snort.

“Please, don’t be ridiculous. You’re staying right where you are and we’re ordering takeout,” she declared. Eyeing the single bottle of wine on the coffee table, she nodded to herself. “And more wine.

“But you guys planned to have dinner and -” Lucien started again, but was interrupted by Rhys.

“We can have dinner another night. It’s not like the food will go bad in the fridge overnight,” he stated determinedly.

“But it’s Valentine’s Day,” Lucien said in a last weak attempt to not upend their dinner plans with his miserable presence.

“Exactly,” Feyre replied, giving Lucien a mischievous little smirk that she must’ve learned from Rhys. “What more can a girl ask for on Valentine’s than to spend it not only with one, but two pretty boys?”

“Will you be our Valentine, Lucien?” Rhys purred, still holding out the glass of wine for him.

Lucien felt the heat creep into his cheeks and dearly hoped it his face wasn’t blazing red when he hesitantly plucked the glass from Rhys’ hand. Their fingers brushed and an entirely different heat spread from the place they touched, similar to the heat he felt on his leg, where Feyre’s hand still rested.

“Okay.”

* * *

 

They had a fantastic night. Feyre had ordered them Indian take-out and several bottles of wine, something that Lucien hadn’t even known was possible.

“You just need to live with Mor long enough, then you’ll know where to get booze at any time of the day,” Feyre confided to him in a low voice, as if she was telling him a secret. Well, it probably was.

They’d eaten and laughed and downed a few bottles, never moving further from the couch than strictly necessary. At some point, Lucien had gotten up and changed, trading his fine clothes in favor of a more comfortable outfit consisting of sweatpants and a tee shirt. Rhys and Feyre had complained loudly and immediately dashed to Rhys room, shedding their own clothes on the way, leaving Lucien slightly unsettled about the glimpsed of their bodies he catched, and emerging seconds later in an equally comfy attire - in Feyre’s case one of Rhys’ tee shirts and nothing else, showing off her pretty, naked legs for Lucien to secretly, and Rhys to not so secretly drool over.

And then they had somehow gotten all cuddly and sleepy while watching a movie, Feyre laying with her head resting in Rhys’ lap, sleeping soundly, her bare legs somehow ending up in Lucien lap, who was desperately trying not to fondle or stare at them.

“Those are nice legs, don’t you think?”

Lucien was startled out of his contemplation of Feyre’s freckles thighs. He didn’t know for how long, but he had been immersed in a silly drunk attempt to connect the little dots into pictures.

“Huh?”

Lucien raised his gaze to find Rhys looking at him, his violet eyes burning into him with such intensity, it made Lucien tremble.

“Feyre’s legs. They’re pretty. Well she’s pretty,” Rhys repeated, still looking at Lucien with a slightly wary expression on his face, like he was waiting for something or trying to figure something out.

Shit. Lucien hadn’t thought he had been quite so obvious about staring at them. He didn’t want Rhys to think he was lusting after his girlfriend. Well, he kinda was, but he hadn’t meant to make a move on her or anything.

“Uhm…, yeah, I guess. She’s pretty.” Lucien said.

He was trying to sound objective about it and not like he was attracted to Feyre. Because he was.

He hadn’t known it was possible to be crushing this hard on two people at the same time, let alone a couple who was clearly in love with each other, but Lucien was. He felt himself falling deeper and deeper with every second they spent on this damn couch, drinking wine and watching a movie, doing utterly boring stuff that wasn’t exciting at all, but excited him nonetheless.

“You’re pretty too,” Rhys suddenly said, still eyeing Lucien attentively.

“I… what?”

Lucien wasn’t sure he had been hearing right. Did his long-term crush just called him pretty? While his gorgeous girlfriend was sprawled over both their laps, being half naked?

Rhys chuckled darkly, a sound that had Lucien’s stomach clench deliciously, and leaned towards him, his eyes boring into his.

“I said, you’re pretty too,” he purred.

And then Rhys kissed him.

A tentative, shy peck on the lips, like a hesitant knock on the door to see if someone was home. He withdrew immediately, studying Lucien’s face, gauging his reaction.

Lucien wasn’t sure he was breathing. Rhys had just kissed him!

He didn’t know if it was the wine they had, his pent-up sexual frustration, or the fact that he had wanted to do this for so long, but Lucien gripped Rhys shoulder and pulled him back towards him, kissing him fully on the lips. Rhys returned the kiss eagerly, leaving Lucien heady with bliss - and a raging hard-on.

“Hey!”

Startled, they broke apart to find Feyre glaring up at them from Rhys’ lap.

Lucien felt his stomach sink all the way to the floor when the realization of that they’d just been doing came over him. He had just kissed Rhys. Who had a girlfriend. Who was currently present and looking very put out.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” she snarled, sitting up and positioning herself so she could look at the both of them at the same time.

She pointed her finger at Rhys. “You said I could have the first kiss!” she said hotly, almost poking out her boyfriend’s eye.

Rhys gently grabbed her hand and folded her finger in, so he wasn’t any longer in danger of going blind.

“Can’t help it if you rile him up with your sexy legs, making Luc look all adorable in the way he tries not to stare at you, only to fall asleep in the middle of your seduction attempt. Someone had to kiss him!” Rhys defended himself.

Lucien watched the two of them in confusion. What was going on here?

He was still wondering about that, when Feyre turned towards him, grabbed his face between her hands and slanted her mouth over his, kissing him emphatically.

_Woah woah woah!_

Shocked, Lucien shoved Feyre away out of reflex, throwing a guilty look in Rhys’ direction. But Rhys didn’t look jealous or angry, but rather turned on by his girlfriend kissing the guy he’d just kissed himself.

“Someone care to explain?” Lucien asked perplexed.

Feyre and Rhys shared one of their looks, smiling faintly at each other, and then both turned to him, saying “We like you!” at the same time.

Confounded, Lucien shook his head, refusing to believe what he just heard. “Excuse me, come again?”

Feyre and Rhys both scooted closer, Feyre leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. When she withdrew, her eyes sparkled with affection, but then Rhys placed a finger on his chin to make Lucien face him and kissed him too.

“We like you. The ‘we’d like to do stuff with you’-like,” Rhys purred, looking at Lucien in a way that had him blush.

“Or the ‘we want you to be our boyfriend’-like,” Feyre added, sliding into Lucien’s lap and wrapping her arms around his neck, caressing the shell of his hear with her lips, while Rhys put his lips back on Lucien’s, who was too baffled to to anything but surrender to their combined onslaught.

“So,” Feyre whispered in Lucien’s ear, making him shiver adoringly, while Rhy’s tongue brushed over his bottom lip, asking for entrance. “Will you be our Valentine?”


	5. Will You Be Our Valentine - part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** Feyrhycien ***
> 
> Continuation for the Valentine's prompt based on this tumblr post a friend send me:   
> https://capandbuck.tumblr.com/post/171072628204/it-started-over-drarry-korrigu-tuulikki

 Lucien had never imagined how wonderful it was to date two people at the same time. And how awfully insecure it made him.

After Feyre and Rhys’ confession on Valentine’s Day, the three of them officially started dating. What followed were delightful movie or dinner dates, and many, many steamy make-out sessions between the three of them.

But the logistics of sharing an apartment with your boyfriend, but not with your girlfriend were hard to figure out. The same problems applied to having sex with two people, who were already in an established  ~~sexual~~  relationship.

First of all, he still couldn’t quite believe that both Feyre and Rhys seemed to return his feelings when they were so clearly and irrevocably in love with each other. Lucien felt like he was intruding on their relationship, like he somehow was and stayed the third-wheel.

What if dating him was just a fling, a thing they cooked up for their amusement, only to ditch him after they grew bored of Lucien?

And then he was really just concerned about the coordination of the act itself.

Like, how would it play out? Was it okay to have sex with either of them, without the other present, or should all three of them be present at all times? And how should he approach Rhys about the topic of who would be on top between the two of them? Lucien was usually the dom, but Rhys didn’t strike him as sub. Was Rhys even interested in sleeping with him, or was their sexual relationship more limited to pleasuring each other with hands and consume the actual act with Feyre only?

All this pressed down on Lucien and he was growing more and more nervous and insecure about having sex. And it seemed his insecurities had started rubbing off on the other two.

Feyre started to sleep over less, because, as Lucien suspected, they didn’t want to exclude him from their nightly activities, but he wasn’t quite ready to have sex with them yet. When she did sleep over, the three of them shared Rhy’s king size bed, but other than sharing kisses and some light fondling, nothing ever happened. Rhys and Lucien did kiss and cuddle quite a bit when Feyre wasn’t around, but come the night, they always went to sleep in their respective rooms.

As far as he knew, Rhys hadn’t slept over at Feyre’s since they started dating, at least not without notifying him and asking, whether that would be okay for him, but Lucien could count these occasions on one hand. Rhys even invited him to come along more than once, but Lucien had always chickened out the last moment.

When Rhys slept over at their girlfriend’s, Lucien was very relieved he wasn’t holding them completely back from having sex, but also sad and slightly jealous, because he felt left out. But then, he had only himself to blame for it, because it was him who didn’t take up their offers.

Feyre and Rhys were incredibly sweet and patient with him, making him feel loved and pampered, and other than the sex issue, Lucien felt good in a relationship for the first time in his life.

Or that was, until Rhys decided to grow a fucking beard.

It had started when his razor broke and Rhys had been too busy to buy a new one and refused to use Lucien’s.

One evening, while the three of them were lounging on their couch, watching a movie, Rhys had kissed Lucien’s neck and the stubble had scratched him in a way that had goosebumps appear all over his arms.

Feyre, noticing Lucien shiver with delight, had demanded Rhys kiss her too and then declared, he was to keep growing a beard, because she liked the way it felt on her skin and Lucien, the doofus, liked it too, he was just being too shy to admit it.

As their queen commanded, Rhys kept growing his five o’clock shadow until the stubble had turned into a sexy, nicely trimmed, full beard. It made the elegant lines of his face more salient and his stunning violet eyes stand out even more, not to say how his white teeth flashed even whiter in the black thicket of his beard.

Lucien couldn’t stop staring at Rhys for even one second - and neither could Feyre.

The two of them chased Rhys with hungry eyes and rubbed their faces and hands against Rhys beard at every possible occasion, only Feyre actually got to let some steam off by dragging Rhys into the bedroom, albeit probably not as often as she’d like, considered how often they’d had sex before Lucien joined their relationship.

Lucien, however, was still too shy to broach the topic of sex, so he grew more and more frustrated with every passing day. Living with Rhys only made it worse, because there was not one day he didn’t see him and his damn, sexy beard.

It took 3 weeks for Lucien to finally snap.

He was in the kitchen, preparing dinner for them, when he heard a key turn into the lock. He knew it must be Rhys. Vassa hadn’t been home much lately, because she preferred hanging out with her current lover instead of ‘watching a threesome about to happen on their couch’ as she’d phrased it. Lucien felt bad for chasing her out of their flat, but Feyre’s flat was too small to house the three of them.

“Hey babe,” Rhys said smiling when he sauntered into the kitchen and greeted Lucien with a peck on the cheek.

“Hey,” Lucien said, blushing faintly. He was still not used to the casual affection Rhys showered him with.

“You cooking dinner?” Rhys asked, peering into the pots.

“Yeah, some quick pasta. Feyre said she’s coming over, so I thought I’d cook us something.”

Rhys wrapped his arms around Lucien from behind and hugged him, kissing the back of his neck before propping his chin on Lucien’s shoulder and staying like that, while Lucien attempted to chop some veggies for the sauce. The beard tickled Lucien in all the right places, making him all hot and bothered.

“Rhys, I can’t cook like this,” Lucien complained, putting the knife down before he accidently cut himself. Rhys hugging him like this was terribly distracting.

“Oh, sorry,” Rhys said, letting go of him.

Lucien turned to Rhys to see him smile at him. And the way he looked at that moment - his stupid, beautiful eyes sparkling, his stupid, gorgeous smile brilliant as the sun and his damn, stupid beard that had just deliciously scratched over his most sensitive spots and made him grow hard - had Lucien snap.

With a powerful shove, Lucien had Rhys pressed against the fridge, roughly pushing his tongue into his boyfriend's mouth. Rhys moaned and fisted his hands in Lucien’s shirt, pulling him closer as he returned the kiss. This wasn’t one of the careful, sweet kisses they usually shared and that were mostly initiated by Rhys, but a wild and desperate battle of tongues. Lucien no longer could nor did want to restrain himself. He unleashed all his pent-up frustration and insecurity and poured it into his kisses.

“Stop growing a beard, because if you get any more handsome, I have to fuck you,” Lucien said hoarsely after they had unglued their lips.

“And if that’s exactly what I want?” Rhys asked with a faint smirk, panting slightly.

“You want me to fuck you?” Lucien asked perplexed. “I mean, like real sex?”

Rhys groaned as if the question was exciting him and pulled him closer for another kiss.

“Hell yeah,” he moaned against Lucien’s lips. “How else are we supposed to have sex?”

But Lucien pushed off him lightly. “No I mean… You want me to…” He blushed hard, unable to continue.

Rhys’ eyes danced with amusement. “Put it in? Yes babe, I want you to be on top and stick your -”

“Ok, ok, I got it. Don’t say it!” Lucien buried his hands in his face, overcome with happy embarrassment. Rhys chuckled and he pulled him back towards him, kissing his neck, his damn beard pricking him softly.

“It’s cute how you are sometimes shy like this, when I know you’re probably the kinkiest person I know.”

Lucien looked up to Rhys, flabbergasted. “What do you mean, kinkiest person you know?”

Rhys cupped his face and kissed him teasingly.

“I’ve overheard your ex and Vassa one time shortly after we moved in here. Andras, was that his name? He had quite some things to say about you and what you like to do in bed,” Rhys confessed.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna kill Vassa!” Lucien grumbled and hid his face in Rhys’ chest.

Rhys barked out a laugh.

“Don’t. That talk actually got you on mine and Feyre’s radar. We’d thought Andras was just a friend, we hadn’t realized you were a couple. You were always so clandestine about your relationships. Feyre and I always had a little crush on you, but we never confessed it to each other until we found out you were bi and that there might be even the tiniest chance you could be open to date the two of us,” Rhys admitted with a shy smile.

“Yeah, and when you finally agreed to become our boyfriend, we almost couldn’t believe it,” Feyre said. The boys turned around to find her leaning casually against the doorway. She must’ve let herself in.

“How long have you been standing there?” Rhys said with a fond smile.

Feyre came over and ran a hand over his beard. But it was Lucien who she turned to and kissed first, putting some heat into her kiss.

“Long enough to suggest that you turn off the stove and the three of us head to the bedroom,” she said in a sultry voice, looking Lucien deep into the eyes. She slid one hand over his chest and onto his shoulder, pressing closer to him. “By the way, I’m perfectly okay just watching, you know. But you need to talk to us Luc. Else, we won’t know what you’re okay with. We want this to work, preferably forever.”

Lucien gave both Feyre and Rhys an apologetic kiss. “I’m sorry. I’m somewhat insecure about the whole situation. Like I don’t want to get between the two of you and - “

Both his girlfriend and boyfriend burst into laughter and hugged him between them.

“Silly, between the two of us is exactly where we want you to be!” Rhys chuckled.

“Or maybe, you on top and Rhys in the middle, and I underneath the both of you?” Feyre suggested, earning her another chuckle from Rhys and a small embarrassed laugh from Lucien.

“Or the two of us under Lucien? Because I heard he really fancies tying up his partner duri -” Rhys started, but was quickly silenced by Lucien with a glare.

“Okay, that’s it. First we’re gonna eat, because the two of you will need some stamina for what is to come. You want kinky? You’ll get kinky!” he threatened and turned towards the stove, hoping the pasta hadn’t turned soggy in the meantime.

Behind him, Rhys and Feyre both let out squeals of delight and barreled into his back, almost squeezing him to death.

“We love you, do you know that?” Feyre said with a huge grin on her face.

Lucien blushed all the way to the tip of his ears. “I love you too,” he mumbled. “Now let go of me and set the table.”

Behind his back, Rhys and Feyre nodded to each other.

“You set the table, darling,” Rhys said to Feyre, “I’ll get out the handcuffs and the lube.”


	6. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing to be revealed during reading. 
> 
> Based on a request for shameless smut after all the recent fluff.

He was on a hunt.

He had been ever since he’d seen her this morning during breakfasts. How could be not, when she had been practically shoving that delicious, round, little thing right into his face first thing in the morning.

But she’d been her usual distant self, not even deigning to look at him, and ever since then, she’d been elusive; all he managed to get were quick glimpses of her and that soft, round temptation she so shamelessly put on display during the day.

But those glimpses were enough to halt him in whatever he’d been doing in that moment and have his imagination run wild; imagining all the naughty, depraved things he could to do with that round, juicy part of her.

Right now, he was on the stakeout, hungrily but patiently observing his prey from across the makeshift throne room in the House of Wind, like he had for the last hour or so.

He couldn’t care less about the festivities they were holding, or the fairies from other courts that were mingling about, no, his eyes were trained on where she stood on the other side of the room, near the dais, her back turned to him, granting him full view of the gentle curve and perfect roundness of her - it was driving him crazy.

He wanted to touch it, squeeze it, feel it give in to the pressure of his fingers, only to have it bounce back at a certain point, because as soft as it might look, he just knew it was also firm.

He wanted to run his fingers over the silky surface, press a kiss onto it, nuzzle it with his nose, and inhale her sweet scent that he knew engulfed every part of her body and that carried the tiniest hint of his own. Not as much as he’d like, but noticeable enough to mark her as his.

And then, if she didn’t resist, he’d let his fingers wander down, to maybe bury them in her -

She suddenly turned and her icy, yet fiery blue-grey eyes bored into his with much intensity, as if she’d heard every thought he’d had about her and that particular part of her body. When their eyes met, the bond they had yet to acknowledge hummed to life, purring louder with every step she took closer towards him, until he himself practically purred.

And then she was in front of him, within the reach of his twitching fingers, dangling the thing she’d been tempting him with the whole day right under his nose. But he knew he couldn’t touch her - not in public at least. She’d single-handedly castrate him, if he’d even try.

“Cassian,” she said, a hint of violence lacing her voice, making him shiver with wild, reckless abandon. It was the game they played, tugging and teasing, him chasing her, her pushing him away.

“Did you just look me up and down and then bite your lip?”

Nesta’s glare would’ve scared anyone. Even Rhys still flinched and pulled his magic tighter around him as if to prepare for an oncoming attack, when this mighty woman in front of him laid eyes upon him, but in Cassian’s case, the promise of violent death her eyes only excited him more.

It was that excitement, the thrill and rush of their upcoming battle, that had him give her a broad, seductive grin and say, “No sweetheart. I did not look you up and down, I looked at specifically one place.” He fixed his gaze at the place he meant for emphasis, letting her know exactly what part of her had been occupying his mind all day. “I did bite my lip though,” he added for good measure, delighted to see her bristling at the words.

“Don’t you even dare touch me,” she seethed.

The words caused the exact opposite.

Cassian’s hand shot out, almost faster than the eye could see, and with a content sigh he finally wrapped his fingers around the fluffy, round bun at the top of her head that he’d been staring at all day. It felt exactly as good as he’d imagined.

Nesta smacked his arm, but Cassian couldn’t be deterred now that he could finally squish the soft bobble of hair to his heart’s content.

“Stop it! I thought you’re a bat, not a cat,” Nesta hissed, finally making him release her now ruined updo. “Should I ask someone to find a ball of wool for you to play with, Commander?”

Cassian huffed a laugh and folded his seething soon-to-be wife and mate into his arms, burying his nose in her now messy bun and inhaling her sweet scent, that, after their wedding and mating ceremony tomorrow, would finally merge with his.


	7. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***Rhycien (Rhysand and Lucien)***
> 
> Based on this prompt:  
> “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” + rhycien :) don't feel pressure, just do what you can with it.
> 
> This could be the prologue for my Feyrhycien shorts.

Lucien let his eyes wander over the assembled crowd that celebrated the merger between his and another company, but his gaze got instantly snagged by a shock of midnight-black hair and the man it belonged to - like it had all evening.

The owner of the mop of black hair stood together with a group of high-level executives and their wifes, who shamelessly stared at him in poorly concealed admiration. To Lucien, they looked like a pack of cougars, ready to pounce. Not that he could blame them.

He himself was unable to tear his eyes from the gracious profile, the curve of his Cupid’s bow, the way his broad shoulders were accentuated by the black tux that was bound to be tailor-made. The pants fit so snuggly, the showed of his spectacular behind exceptionally well, the fabric hugging the firm curves that he wanted to -

Frustrated with himself, Lucien averted his gaze and downed his flute of champagne, trying to think about anything else than how much he wanted to get his hands on Rhysand Nash.

For three damn weeks, they’d negotiated the final details of the long-planned merger, 3 weeks of almost daily, endless meetings during which Lucien couldn’t help but notice just how ridiculously attractive the other party’s chief negotiator was.

Problem was, that the prick seemed to be very well aware of the fact that people couldn’t lay eyes upon him without swooning. So when he’d caught Lucien giving him a sneaky, admiring once-over during their first meeting, he’d smirked at Lucien in a way that had him flush. And ever since then, he’d singled him out as weak link in the opposing negotiation team and shamelessly - for the lack of a better word - flirted with him.

Only Lucien didn’t back down as Rhysand might’ve expected, but instead returned every bit of flirty banter and cleverly disguised rhetorical tactic with enough innuendos and flirting of his own, that the rest of the people present had been feeling distinctly and visibly uncomfortable. They didn’t call Lucien the silver-tongued fox for nothing.

And after 3 weeks of flirting, that had Lucien struggling to find the point where negotiation turned into seduction and getting lost in Rhysand’s impossible violet eyes, while circling each other like two predators about to lunge at each other, they finally closed the deal.

When they’d shaken hands over the successful deal, Rhysand had suddenly pulled Lucien closer with a sharp tug of his hand, so they were standing close enough for Lucien to be able to smell his cologne and feel the other man’s body heat.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he had whispered low into Lucien’s ear, his lips lightly brushing his cheek when he’d withdrawn.

Whether the slight touch had been deliberate or not, Lucien hadn’t known and cared to know. He had been too busy to keep his face neutral as a lick of arousal fanned the heat in his belly and groin and stare impassively in the violet pools that were Rhysand’s eyes. They had been dancing with amusement and something else.

Said eyes now met his over the heads of the congregation, when – unconsciously - Lucien’s gaze had drifted back to Rhysand.

Lucien went still and a jolt of pleasant surprise went through him, leaving him tingly and nervous. He couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t been looking at Rhysand with their gazes locked across the room.

Rhysand cocked an eyebrow at him and smirked, one hand pocketed in his dress pants, the other raising his champagne flute at him for a toast. The whole gesture radiating pure arrogance.

Lucien felt like Rhysand had just tossed a gauntlet at his feet, so he turned to a passing waiter and handed him his empty flute in return for a full one, before turning back to Rhysand and toasting him with a sharp, equally arrogant smile of his own.

They drank, holding the connection, and when they were done, Rhysand licked his bottom lip, as if a droplet of champagne had escaped, and bit down on it. Lucien knew what he was doing. And it was working, because his pants suddenly felt tighter than they had a minute ago.

Lucien turned abruptly on his heel a stalked towards the open doors that led towards a balcony overseeing the sprawling city. He walked to the little secret spot where the balcony rounded a corner and suddenly ended, creating a semi-concealed alcove he was determined to hide in to catch his wits about him - and maybe calm down enough to coax his half-hard cock to go back to slumber.

Bracing his hands on the railing, he exhaled and let his shoulders slump, looking out over the glittering, sprawling city, attempting to relax, yet he found it hard to do so. His mind refused to let go of the image of Rhysand biting down on that damn lip of his and the spark of hunger Lucien thought he’d seen flashing in his eyes.

“Stuffy in there, isn’t it,” a voice drawled behind him

Lucien tensed up immediately - and unfortunately not only him.

He slowly turned to scowl at Rhysand while trying to keep his lower body out of sight, hoping to scare him away, but of course that prick couldn’t be warded off with something so simple as a scowl.

More than that, he seemed to enjoy Lucien’s reaction to him, especially when his gaze flickered downwards.

“Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” Rhysand purred, taking another sip of his champagne before putting his now empty glass on the stone railing next to Lucien’s own.

Lucien had enough of their game. He was frustrated and horny and tired of being toyed with by this man.  

“I don’t know, why don’t you try and find out?” he offered snarky.

Rhysand went still, his eyes widening in surprise.

Lucien was pleased to have finally managed to throw him off his game, even if it meant being crass. So he decided to try again.

“Are you all talk or will you finally follow through with it?” Lucien scoffed.

Rhys had him pressed against the wall of the building in a flash, pinning him to the rough stone with own body and hiding them away from sight.

Yet, the kiss he pressed to Lucien’s lips was sweet and tender, almost shy. Lucien slid his own hands up Rhysand’s chest and placed them on his shoulders, pulling him closer against him as he parted his lips slightly, meeting Rhysand’s in an unhurried, open-mouthed kiss.

Rhysand held his chin with one hand, the press of his fingers on his jaw urgent, while his other hand languidly stroked his side, sending shivers up and down Lucien’s spine. When Rhysand gave his waist a gentle squeeze, Lucien’s hips bucked and pressed into Rhysand’s.

With some satisfaction he noticed, that Rhysand must be carrying a gun as well - or was just very happy to be kissing Lucien.

They didn’t stop kissing for some time, enjoying the slow, lazy dance their mouths and then their tongues engaged in to the fullest.

“If you’d done this instead of running your mouth at negotiations, we could’ve closed the deal a lot sooner,” Lucien said hoarsely when they had finally broken apart.

“Please,” Rhys said with a dark chuckle, releasing his chin to grab Lucien’s waist with both hands. “The only one negotiating in that room was you. My company’s demands were met by the end of the first day.”

“Then why the hell did we spent 3 weeks in that room negotiating?”

“Because I wanted to keep flirting with you. It was fun to see you all riled up. And hot. Turned me on phenomenally,” Rhys admitted, brushing his lips over Lucien’s heated cheek.

He pressed his hips into Lucien’s for emphasis, while his deft fingers somehow found his way under Lucien’s shirt, drawing little patterns at the skin on his hip.

Lucien unraveled the bowtie and popped open the first few buttons of Rhysand’s shirt, exposing the strong column of his neck, his collarbones just barely peeking out. He let his hand slide over the warm, soft skin, diving under the collar and wrapping it around Rhysand’s neck, until he was cradling the back of it, the tips of his thumb and pointer finger brushing against the short, prickly hair at his hairline.

Rhysand let it happen, his eyes closed as if he was relishing the feel of Lucien’s fingers on his bare skin, a content little smile on his lips.

Gently, Lucien pulled him closer and kissed him as softly and gently as Rhysand had kissed him.

“My place or yours?” Lucien asked against his lips.

“Depends.”

Lucien pulled back and frowned at Rhys. “On what?”

Rhys smirked at him and slid his hand up to the small of his back as he leaned in to whisper in Lucien’s ear.

“What terms do you offer?”

 


	8. All the Stars in the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***Feysand***
> 
> Feysand trying to repaint their living room and getting distracted

“Hey Rhys?”

“Hm?” Rhys looked up to Feyre, who was watching his paint-stained fingers dot white paint all over her stomach with a frown.

“That stuff is supposed to go on the walls, not skin.”

Rhys laughed. “Feyre Darling, it’s a bit too late for that, don’t you think?

They had been attempting to repaint their living room, the stress being put on ‘attempting’.

They hadn’t even finished the first wall, before they got distracted. 

Rhys had smeared some of the paint of Feyre, who had promptly retaliated with flicking her brush in his direction, splattering several dots on Rhys’ black shirt.

“You’re own fault wearing a fancy, black shirt for painting,” she had said with a huge grin, seeing how Rhys narrowed his eyes first at the stains and then at her.

From then on, it had been all-out war.

And then they’d somehow ended up naked on the floor, Feyre on top, engaging in a different kind of ‘distraction’. Now they were laying on the floor, basking in the afterglow, or rather, they had been, until Rhys started dotting the night sky all over Feyre’s stomach.

Feyre frowned a bit harder and propped herself up on her elbows, rising to a semi-sitting position.

“No, I mean, that’s wall paint, not paint that goes on skin. You probably shouldn’t be smearing it all over my belly. Although I must say, it’s rather impressive,” she added with a little smile.

Rhys studied the complete northern hemisphere and it’s constellations he had dotted onto his wife’s pregnant belly with much regret, but she was right - they couldn’t risk anything happening to their offspring because daddy was having too much fun.

With some difficulty, Rhys found a little spot clear of paint for him to kiss and pressed his lips to the impressive dome that held his child.

“Ouch,” Rhys laughed and rubbed his mouth and Feyre burst into giggles, patting her stomach. He had been kicked by his baby the exact moment he’d given the belly a kiss. 

Still laughing, he helped a giggling, naked Feyre to her feet and folded her tenderly into his arms.

“Let’s get cleaned up and then maybe we can try painting the walls again.”

Feyre pressed a little kiss to the underside of his chin. “Want to paint the nursery after that?”

“Sure,” Rhys responded.

“What color should we paint it?” she mused.

Rhys glanced at her belly, still dotted with white paint.

“Let’s paint it like the night sky. With all the stars in the sky.”

 


	9. Nasty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***Nessian***
> 
> based on the prompt:  
> "Oh how about Nessian where Nesta is a barrista and Cassian comes in daily to order from her and she keeps messing up his name on purpose"

“Good morning sweetheart.”

Nesta shot the man in front of her a glare and turned to Tarquin, who watched her sister Feyre with his usual look of undying devotion - a sentiment Feyre unfortunately didn’t reciprocate as she was currently engaged in flirting with Nesta’s customer’s handsome companion.

“Hazelnut Macchiato, extra shot, get moving” she barked the order at Tarquin, startling the poor guy out of his misery.

She didn’t need to ask what her customer wanted. Cassian was a regular, he came every day, or at least every day when Nesta was working. And he always ended up in her line, smiling at her with that shit-eating grin of his, being a shameless flirt.

“Oh someone’s in a mood today. I do apologize, I’m rather late today,” Cassian said.

Nesta glared at him impassively. “And that’s relevant, ‘cause?”

Cassian leaned casually against the counter.

“Because you’ve been clearly missing me and it has made you miserable, hence the mood. I’m here now Nes.”

Cassian had the audacity to wink at her. Nesta didn’t respond, but mutely held out her hand for him to pay up and then took up a cup and a pen to write his name on it. She thought hard for a moment and then scribbled on it, handing it to Tarquin after she was done.

When she turned back to the register, Cassian was still lingering.

“Sorry, could you please move, you’re blocking the line. We’ll call when your coffee is done,” Nesta said to him.

Cassian shook his head with a faux sigh. “As much as I love the coffee here, the customer service is really terrible,” he mocked, stepping aside so the guy behind him could order.

Just to annoy Cassian, Nesta flashed a brilliant smile at the new customer. “Welcome, my name is Nesta, what can I get you?”

She heard Cassian snort and drag his friend away from Feyre, throwing Nesta one of those raised-eyebrow looks, probably daring her to snap at Feyre, because while she had been flirting with Reese’s Cup or whatever his name was, a long line of customers had queued up.

As per usual, Nesta ignored him. And whether or not her sister lost her job, because she was flirting instead of taking orders, was none of Nesta’s business.

Nesta was just ringing up the next customer, when Tarquin finished Cassian’s drink.

“Hazelnut Macchiato with extra shot for Fussian!”

Nesta heard Cassian groan and his friend cackle, and allowed herself a little, smug smile. Cassian came up to eye the name she had scribbled on the cup.

“Fussian, really?” he complained good naturedly.

“It was either this or Crassian. Or maybe Sassian,” Nesta said haughtily and immediately dismissed him, turning to her next customer. She took care to give this one a big smile too. And she made sure Cassian saw it.

“Well played, Nestie. Well played.” The way he pronounced it, it sounded like he said nasty.

It was the little game the two of them had been playing for weeks now.

The first time Cassian had shown up, he had immediately started flirting with Nesta. Handsome, hulking beefcake that he was, Nesta had been sure he had 5 girls dangling from every arm already, so she wasn’t interested in being another notch in his belt. Yet, she couldn’t help noticing his pretty hazel eyes. So when he asked her for her recommendation, Nesta blurted out the first thing that came to her mind: Hazelnut Macchiato.

Cassian had smiled at her in a way that had almost had her lose her iron composure, and ordered the Hazelnut Macchiato with an extra shot, clearly understanding the reference to his eye color.

“I’m Cassian,” he’d said, before she could ask his name to write it on the cup. Glancing at her name tag, he’d added, “Nice to meet you, Nestie.”

Nesta had instantly been irritated. _How dare that asshole call her nasty?_

So she had intentionally misspelled his name, wanting to make him feel like she had.

It was only later that she had realized that her name tag had been smudged, so her name had indeed looked like ‘Nestie’. But by then the deed had already been done and Cassian had taken it with surprisingly good humor and was back the next day, ordering the same coffee again.

Nesta was too proud to admit her mistake and apologize to Cassian. Instead she kept misspelling his name in purpose, because she found she had hella fun teasing Cassian and he seemed to like it too.

“When will you finally do him?”

Feyre had come up so chat with her, seeing that the rush of caffeine-addicts had abated and they had nothing better to do.

“Excuse me?” Nesta replied.

“You and Cassian. When will you finally do him?” Feyre repeated the question in all earnestness.

Nesta scoffed at her sister and went to the coffee machine, to make herself a coffee. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh please.” Feyre rolled her eyes at her sister. “The two of you are practically eye-fuc-”

“Feyre!” Nesta hissed, throwing a glance at Tarquin, who had just come out from the back, carrying large cartons of milk.

Just then, Cassian and his friend got up, getting ready to leave, but stopping by the counter on their way out. Rice dude bend over the counter and pecked a quick kiss to Feyre’s cheek, which had her blushing and giggling.

“Want a kiss to, sweetheart,” Cassian asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Nesta flipped him off and turned to go fetch something from the back, so he wouldn’t see the blush that stained her cheeks. When she came back out, the boys had left and Tarquin was just returning from cleaning up their table.

“N-Nesta? Here, I think this is for you,” he said shyly, handing her a table napkin.

Nesta took it and smiled faintly when she read what was written on it.

_Tart as a lemon again today, sweetheart. Goes well with my coffee. The service is much appreciated!_

Underneath he had jotted down his number.

Nesta gave a little snort and crumpled the napkin.

“Don’t you want to keep it?” Feyre asked. She had spotted the napkin and read it over her shoulder without Nesta noticing.

“No,” she said, throwing the crumpled tissue into the bin.

She didn’t need to. Cassian has been leaving her his number and a little message like this ever since the first day. By now, Nesta knew his number by heart.

In addition, she was sure he’d be back for her shift tomorrow.

 


	10. Kiss for the Cook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre and Cassian brotp
> 
> Based on this prompt:  
> "Feyre tries really hard to make Rhys favorite dinner and might accidentally start a fire."

Feyre had no idea how things could’ve escalated that quickly.

She had followed every step of the instructions Cassian had noted down for her, watched several of the YouTube videos he’d recommended to her, she had used all of the ingredients he had cut and prepared for her, she had even been on the damn phone with him while she attempted to cook Rhys favorite dinner for their anniversary, but still she’d managed to ruin everything.

And now she was staring at the flames that flickered in her frying pan - the oil had caught fire. How so, she had no fuckin clue.

“What? What happened,” Cassian yelled, having heard her scream just seconds ago.

“I might have accidentally started a fire,” Feyre whispered in a flat voice. She was under shock.

“You started a FIRE? WHERE? HOW?”

“The frying pan.”

In a sort of weird, detached state, Feyre calmly watched the flames lick higher and higher. “What do I do now, Cass?”

“Oh, well, how about YOU PUT THE DAMN FIRE OUT! I’m right around the corner, I’ll be at your place in a sec.”

Cassian had actually started walking over to her and Rhys’ apartment the first time he’d heard her shrieking, afraid she’d mess up greatly. His fears had proved right.

“Putting the fire out, ok,” Feyre said more to herself than to Cassian. “So I guess I’ll take the pan and put it under water and -”

“DON’T PUT OUT A GREASE FIRE WITH WATER! YOU WANNA BURN THE WHOLE BUILDING DOWN?”

Cassian’s voice reached a never before heard high pitch. _Who was shrieking now?_ Feyre thought.

“Well how AM I supposed to put it out then?” she asked, her annoyance and bleeding ears shaking her out of the shocked stupor.

“Throw a towel over it. Better, open the damn door and let me handle it,” Cassian said, knocking on her front door for emphasis.

Feyre immediately sprinted to the door to let him in. Cassian in turn dashed right into the kitchen.

When Feyre followed him, he’d already doused the flames with her favorite towel. Well, the loss of a hand-stitched piece of fabric was worth the safety of her apartment, she guessed.

Cassian was already taking in the rest of the mess she made. With a groan, he ran both hands over his face.

“Feyre, how did you even manage to fuck up this badly? I prepared the ingredients for you. I made Mise en Place for you. You basically just had to heat the stuff and assemble it on a plate.”

Feyre’s cheeks burned with shame over her inability to cook and she averted her gaze. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “Thank you for saving my house, Cass. How can I repay you.”

Cassian gave her a grave look.

“Never set foot in a kitchen again. Ever!”

* * *

 

“I must say, darling, this was very delicious.”

Rhys leaned back in his chair and smiled at Feyre.

She didn’t know how, but by whatever culinary magic he possessed, Cassian had somehow managed to salvage the meager ingredients that were left and transformed them into a delicious dinner.

Sure, the mashed potatoes were somewhat slimy and the greens were slightly burned, but there was only so much Cassian could do after Feyre had already laid waste to the kitchen and salted the earth (and the potatoes). And it helped keep up the impression that Feyre had actually cooked the dinner. The man was a genius.

They cleaned up and Rhys caught her in an embrace after they had loaded the dishwasher, giving her a tender kiss.

“Kiss for the cook,” he said, smiling.

Feyre agreed wholeheartedly. Only Cassian had to wait until tomorrow until she could give it to him.


	11. Coming Home to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***Feysand***
> 
> Based on a true story

"I’m home,” Feyre yelled the moment she unlocked the door.

Right on cue, Rhys came hurrying out of the kitchen, face alight with joy because she was home. Feyre worldlessy handed him her bag and umbrella, before she started unzipping her boots, all while still standing outside their apartment. It was snowing heavily outside and her boots were packed with snow. She didn’t want sleet all over her hallway.

Leaving the boots outside, she closed the door and turned to Rhys for her welcome kiss. He immediately engulfed her into one of his bear hugs.

“Hello darling,” he breathed softly into her neck.

“Hello bat,” she repeated, sneakily inhaling his scent. Coming home to Rhys was the best thing after a long day. That and bitching about work.

Pulling away, she presented her face to him in a silent demand to be kissed, and Rhys immediately followed suit. He carefully cupped her face between his hands and breathed an incredibly tender kiss on her lips.

Something was off. Feyre knew it right away.

She narrowed her eyes at Rhys in suspicion, but he merely grinned at her and hurried back into the kitchen to check on the dinner he was heating up for them.

Feyre looked after him with a frown. He was up to something, she just didn’t know what it was.

Deciding she’d probably find out early enough, she stowed away her gloves and unwound her scarf, before she started unbuttoning her coat. She had just started peeling it off, when Rhys came back, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, watching her with a strange look in his eyes.

“Get undressed,” he said softly.

Feyre stopped and looked at him with her eyebrows raised.

“You mean my coat, or should I just take it all off and go lie down on the bed?” she teased.

Rhys gave her a little, cute pout.

“Your coat,” he said. “And don’t go into the living room yet. I want to be with you if you do.”

He was figdeting a lot and looking nervous for some reason.

“Rhys…”

For a moment, Feyre was afraid he had prepared a fancy proposal. Then she remembered, they were already married. So that meant…

Feyre groaned audibly. “Rhys, don’t tell me you - ”

“Hush,” he said, placing a finger on her lips. “Don’t ruin the surprise.“ His eyes were bright and his whole posture radiated impatient joy.

Feyre shook her head and shrugged off her coat, hanging it on the peg.

“It’s hardly a surprise when I know what’s coming. Rhys, you really need to stop this. You’ve been weird all week because of it. Can you please chill? It’s not such a big deal.”

Rhys looked so ridiculously hurt, Feyre was almost feeling bad. _Was that silver lining his eyes?_

Feyre sighed and stepped closer, giving him a quick peck on his jaw.

“Come on then. Show me then,” she relented.

She was instantly rewarded with a brilliant smile. Rhys took her hand and pulled her towards the living room. He threw her an excited glance over his shoulder and opened the door.

_No candles, balloons and hearts at least_ , Feyre thought, but then, Rhys wasn’t really the type for that anyways. Bringing her around the couch, he stopped in front of the coffee table. Spotting what was placed in the middle of the table, she stifled a hysterical laugh. She knew him so well.

With great flourish, he turned Feyre around, gazed into her eyes with such an adoring look on her face, she tried really hard not to snort, and then picked up the first object to give to her.

“You can have one piece of it for every day I’m gone. And when you eat the last piece, I’ll be back with you,” he said, a light tremor to his voice. He was holding out a small bar of whiskey chocolate for her.

Feyre took the chocolate and threw him a quizzical look. “And the bottle?”

“Ah.” He looked rather sheepish. “I saw it, and I know you like whiskey but I don’t, so we never buy any, but when I saw it, I was thinking about how I was leaving you behind and I wanted to give you more than just chocolates and-“

“OH FOR FUCKS SAKE RHYSAND!” Feyre exploded, no longer able to stomach his idiocy. “Your leaving for a SKI TRIP. For a WEEK. With your BROTHERS! It’s not like you won’t ever come back. Can you please chill out?”

Rhys looked very taken aback at her outburst. “But Feyre I love you and I feel so bad about leaving you behind on your own.”

Feyre laughed and groaned at the same time.

He’d been driving her crazy for the whole week.

Ever since the annual ski trip with his brothers had drawn closer, Rhys had been growing overly affectionate. The cuddling and kissing had increased even more, as had the sex. She couldn’t leave bed in the morning without having to cuddle Rhys for at least 30 minutes and he refused to sleep before he hadn’t wrapped her in his arms for at least the same amount of time at night, even if Feyre came to bed really late and he had to rise early.

Last weekend over breakfast he’d almost cancelled the whole trip altogether, although it was a important tradition for the brothers, because Feyre had jokingly said she’d miss him and she wouldn’t know what to do without him for the whole week.

“Listen. It’s only a week. I’ll be so busy with work, I won’t miss you anyways,” Feyre reasoned. “And I still have the girls I can hang out with. And by the time I’ll start missing you, you’ll be back anyways. So can you please relax?”

Rhys responded by wrapping his arms around her and burying his nose in her neck, sniffling.

“You don’t like the presents?”

Feyre gave a little laugh. “I like them very much. Thank you. But you’re being ridiculous!”

“I actually wanted to say, the chocolate is meant as Rhys-methadone. You know, for when you get withdrawal symptoms.”

“Okay, that’s it, I take everything back! I can’t believe I actually married you. You’re an idiot!” Feyre exclaimed, trying to push out of his arms. But Rhys pulled her close again.

“Yes, but I’m your idiot.” he replied with a huge, dorky grin.


	12. Cravings (Kiss for the Cook part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on this comment under ‘Kiss for the Cook’ by the wonderful and incredibly supportive ‘thedragonfae’, who’s diligently commenting on all my stuff I post on AO3. Thank you so much dear!!!!!! Your comments make my day <3
> 
> "OMG. So freaking hilarious especially for someone like me who used to cook for a living. XD LOVED it!  
> Which makes me think of how fun a weird cravings fic would be... Feysand or Nessian either one. Cause you know Domestic!Rhys is my favorite, but I adore Cassian the cook too. :D"
> 
> I did both :D  
> ***Feysand/Nessian*** (Rhyand x Cassian brotp)

“Rhys?”

Rhys dragged his tired eyes away from the empty shelf, where the pickled cucumbers were supposed to be, and instead laid them onto an equally exhausted looking Cassian.

“What are you doing here?” his brother-in-law asked.

Rhys looked again at the empty shelf. The gaping hole in the otherwise packed shelf had him almost burst into tears.

“Feyre wanted pickled cucumbers,” he said flatly.

Cassian took in Rhys’ disheveled appearance, then eyed the empty shelf and let out a soft curse.

“Cravings?” he asked, his voice brimming with pity and understanding

“Cravings!” Rhys confirmed.

He was dead. It was 3am and this was the only 24h supermarket in town. If they didn't have pickles, no one had. But he needed pickles. Tonight was the first time Feyre had asked for anything specific to eat ever since she got pregnant.

They'd just entered the second trimester and Rhys had spent the last months in a state of perpetual hysterics, because Feyre had just kept on vomiting for 3 months straight. She'd grown frighteningly thin, because she couldn't keep down her food, and even the smell of her favorite foods or Rhys perfume, which was her all-time favorite scent, had her gag.

But earlier, she'd woken Rhys up and declared she needed pickled cucumbers. So he'd hauled ass to the supermarket - only find the shelf empty.

“What am I gonna do?” he whispered in horror. Rhys felt so powerless, so useless, it took away his ability to breath. “I can't go home without pickles.”

Cassian studied the shelves for a minute, before he decidedly grabbed a glass jar and held it out for Rhys.

“Here. It's Russian-style pickled zucchini. It's the closest as far as texture and taste are concerned. If she wants pickled cucumbers, this should work,” he said soothingly.

Rhys started at the glass jar and then at Cassian as if he'd just handed him the Holy Grail.

“You sure this works?” he asked hesitantly, taking the jar.

Cassian nodded and shrugged. “It's not the pickles the girls are after, it's the sour taste. I swear, Feyre won't mind. Nesta sure didn't. She ate everything, as long as it was pickled. Folks just usually don't have a clue about all the veggies you can pickle, so they always go for cucumbers. Damn shame, if you ask me.”

Rhysand stared at Cassian in hero worship and then cleared the shelf of zucchini, throwing every damn jar into his basket.

“Thanks bud, you saved my marriage and probably the life of my first-born.”

Cassian laughed softly. “That's what pregnancy does to us, doesn't it? It's scary. Especially when you feel like you're doing nothing to contribute. Your girl is doing all the hard work, the hormones and the baby are messing with her, her body’s not her own anymore and she’s suffering, and all you can do is watch and get up at 3am to get them damn pickles.”

Cassian eyed the shelves again and picked up a jar of pickled tomatoes, looking at it fondly, probably remembering Nesta’s first pregnancy. Putting the jar back, he smuggled a little smile in Rhys’ direction. “It's so worth it, tho. You'll see.”

Rhys sniffled and murmured a quiet thank you. It was only then that it occurred to him that it was 3am on a workday and Cassian was grocery shopping.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh. The little one woke up earlier, and when I finally managed to get her back to sleep, I was wide awake and decided I could do some much needed shopping. We're running low on Kimchi.”

Rhys cocked his head. “I'm sorry, but what's Kimchi?”

Cassian raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You don't know Kimchi? Korean fermented cabbage. It's like sauerkraut, but way better. Sour and spicy, real tasty stuff. Nesta couldn’t resist it, even if she wanted to. Goes well with barbecue.”

“Oh,” Rhys said, albeit a bit unconvinced. Fermented cabbage didn't exactly sound like something that’d make his mouth water - or something Feyre could keep down.  

Cassian laughed at his unenthusiastic response. “I swear it tastes a million times better than it sounds! It's actually some kind of food fad right now.”

“Okay, if you say so,” Rhys mumbled and eyed the shelves. “Can you get it here, or where do you buy it?”

“Oh no, I'm making it from scratch,” Cassian explained with a proud smirk. “Nesta wouldn't eat pre-packed stuff. She’s picky, especially now that she’s pregnant again.”

Now it was Rhys time to look surprised. “But if it's fermented, then isn't it like super hard to make? And doesn't it take a lot of time?”

“Well yeah. That's why I'm making it now. We have some left, but at the rate were eating it, it'll be gone in a month or so. I'm making some more right now, so it's ready for when we run out.”

Rhysand was awed by Cassian's culinary prowess and let him know. Cassian accepted the compliment with a laugh and patted Rhys back.

“Does Feyre like hot stuff? I'll give you some to try. We can drive by my place on your way home.”

Rhys flung himself at Cassian. “I love you bro. Kiss for the cook?”

Cassian chuckled and patted Rhys back again. “I think your wife said something similar to me a while back!”

Rhys, not understanding what Cassian meant, frowned at him, but Cassian just shook his head and nudged him down the aisle. “Come on. Let’s get more cabbage. I’ll just make an extra-large bunch of Kimchi, enough for two craving Archerons. But if Lucien knocks up Elain anytime soon, I need a bigger container for the fermentation process.”

Rhys shot him a thankful smile. But before they turned and left, he went back to the shelves once more and picked up the jar of pickled tomatoes Cassian had gazed at so fondly before.

After all, if it worked for one pregnant Archeron, Rhys hoped it would work for the other, too.

 


	13. Will You Be Our Valentine - part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** Feyrhycien ***  
> Because I can’t help but continue with this roomate Feyrhycien constellation. Insecure Lucien is giving me life (and so many plot ideas!)   
> This one is a bit longer, because it’s actually based on two prompts!
> 
> Feyrhycien - They go to an amusement park and Lucien doesn’t wanna ride the rides  
> FEYRHYCIEN God, you have no idea how amazing you are, do you?”

“You are kidding!” 

Feyre and Rhys stared at him with wide eyes, Feyre’s in disbelief and Rhys’ pleading. Lucien knew they would react like this, that’s why he had been trying to be extra sneaky and evasive the whole day. But when he excused himself from the third ride, his partners confronted him about it.

“But it was  _ you  _ who proposed coming here. You even got the tickets for us!” Feyre stated.

“Yeah, why would you do this when you don’t even like rollercoasters?” Rhys added. 

Visibly uncomfortable, Lucien shrugged and averted his gaze, so he no longer had to see the disappointment in theirs. He’d wanted to make his lovers happy, not drag them down. He was doing that anyways on a daily basis, like when he had another depressive episode or anxiety attack, ruining they’re day for them. He honestly sometimes wondered, why they even bothered with him.

“I know Feyre had never been to an amusement park, and Rhys, you haven’t been since -” 

_ Since your family died.  _ He didn’t need to say it aloud. 

And the way Feyre’s eyes had sparkled when she had impatiently tugged at her boyfriends’ hands, pulling them to the next ride, and how Rhys’ violet eyes had glittered with quiet joy and how he had been even more affectionate with them, constantly kissing and touching both Feyre and Lucien, betraying just how much it meant to Rhys to be here with them, had been totally worth it. 

That Lucien didn’t really get to ride anything didn’t matter to him, as long as his partners enjoyed themselves.

“As long as you’re having fun, I’m good. It’s fun to watch you ride,” Lucien said with another shrug, glancing at Feyre the exact moment her face fell.

“You’re doing it again,” she whispered, looking incredibly pained. “Rhys, he’s doing it again!”

Before Lucien could ask what she meant, Feyre had already thrown herself at him, wrapping her arms around his torso and squeezing the air out of his lungs. Perplexed, Lucien looked to Rhys, who looked equal parts sad and angry. When he noticed Lucien looking at him, they locked eyes for a minute and Rhys shook his head. Then he came closer and hugged Lucien from behind, so he was sandwiched between the two of them, both their faces pressed against alternating sides of his neck.

“Uhm, guys?” Lucien asked, shifting a bit on his feet, which caused the other two to tighten their hold on him. “People are staring.” 

“I don’t care!” Rhys mumbled against his neck.

“They can go to hell,” Feyre added hotly. “And sometimes I think you should too! Stop saying shit like  _ as long as you’re having fun _ ! Stop taking you out of the equation. There are three of us in this relationship, not two! Why don’t you seem to get that, doofus!”

“Neither me nor Feyre are happy if you feel left out. This is not how this works, babe,” Rhys supplied.

Lucien wanted to protest, but Feyre interrupted him after she’d pulled away enough to glare at him. 

“Don’t you dare contradict us. You want to make us happy? Stop being a stupid ass!” she hissed and then hid her face against Lucien’s shoulder.

“What our lovely, sweet girlfriend wanted to say is ‘I love you’,” Rhys said placatingly, pulling away too and kissing the back of Lucien’s head, while the reached around Lucien and soothingly patted Feyre’s head. 

“I love you Lucien. And I love Feyre. And I want to see the two of you happy. I think you want the same. But you need to understand that it upsets us quite a bit when you pull stunts like this, when you think you’re not good enough for us, or when you think your better of cheering on us from the sidelines.”

Lucien craned his head to the side to look at Rhys, who was looking at him with a deep frown. “God, you have no idea how amazing you are, do you?” Rhys asked softly.

Lucien blushed a furious red and started sputtering, but Rhys simply cupped his cheek with one hand and kissed the tip of his nose. “You are. That’s why we couldn’t help but fall in love with you. The both of us.”

Lucien cast down his eyes, cheeks still warm. “I love you too. I just sometimes still have troubles believing you do too,” he admitted in a small voice.

Rhys nodded in understanding and planted a firm kiss to his lips. And, somehow, Lucien didn’t care that they were in public anymore, kissing his boyfriend while his girlfriend hugged him. Let them see that he was in love with two wonderful people and that they loved him back.

When they drew apart, Lucien smiled at Rhys, making him finally unwrinkle his brow, before turning to Feyre, who still had her face pressed against his shoulder. Lucien tenderly cradled the back of her head. 

“Hey, come on now, Fey. Look at me! I cannot apologize, if you don’t look at me.”

Feyre raised her head, her face still stormy and her big, blue-grey eyes hard. 

“I’m sorry,” Lucien said softly. ”I love you, baby. I’ll try to be better.”

Feyre held his gaze for a few heartbeats, then she stretched up and kissed him. “I love you too,” she said, already sounding less pissed, but not entirely happy either.

Lucien gave her another kiss for good measure, making sure it was thorough, so when they pulled away, Feyre was pleasantly flushed and in a way better mood. Rhys chuckled at them and pressed a kiss to their mollified girlfriend’s temple, smuggling a wink in Lucien’s direction.

“So if the rides are out of question - and they are -,” Feyre said, giving Lucien another quick glare, “what will we do next?”

* * *

 

They went on some of the easider rides that Lucien swore he had no problem with, frolicked around while walking through the park eating ice cream, and laughed their asses off watching a kids’ magic show. The magician was horrible and they were the only adults in the show - they had one hell of a time.

And they took lots of silly pictures, selfies and snapshots of the other, making weird faces whenever they noticed the others pointing their camera at them. Lucien was bursting with quiet excitement when he scrolled through his phone, one picture after another of Rhys and Feyre looking utterly ridiculous and happy and adorable.

But his absolute favorite was a picture of the three of them, that they’d asked a passerby to snap for them. 

Lucien was standing with Feyre standing next to him, one hand loosely on her hip. Her own hand had rested at his rear, unseen. Rhys, taller than the both of them, stood behind them, one arm slung around Lucien and banded over his chest, the other resting on Lucien’s hand over Feyre’s hips.

Lucien couldn’t remember when he had ever looked happier in a picture. He swore to himself to print out the picture as soon as they got home. For now, it became his background and lock screen.

“Luc, you’re okay with height, right?” Feyre asked abruptly, startling Lucien out of his contemplation of their pictures. 

“Um, yes, why?” he asked, slightly suspicious.

“Wanna ride the Ferris Wheel?” she asked with a broad smile, pointing to the attraction that was towering over them in near distance. 

Lucien wasn’t really that fond of dangling in a small metal cage several hundred meters above the ground, but at least it was a slow ride and he could pretend he was in a train compartment or something like that. 

“Okay,” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic. Seeing the beatific smile Feyre gave him, he almost was.

“Rhys!” she hollered at their boyfriend, who was just coming back from the restroom. “Ferris Wheel!”

Rhys was immediately excited. “Excellent choice, darling! Do you guys know about the urban legend?” Seeing their blank faces, Rhys decided they did not, because he went on. “Apparently, when you kiss at the top of the Ferris Wheel, you will stay together forever,” he said with a sappy smile. 

Both Feyre and Lucien rolled their eyes at Rhys and started trodding towards the Wheel. Rhys hurried to catch up and threw and arm about each of their shoulders.

“You’re a hopeless romantic,” Lucien scoffed.

“That I am,” Rhys confirmed.

“Frankly, it’s annoying,”  Feyre added.

“That might be true,” he chuckled. “It’s not gonna stop me though!”

Rhys then proceeded to hum Disney tunes while they were waiting in line to board the Ferris Wheel. He only stopped when Lucien and Feyre told him, he couldn’t come with them, if he didn’t stop.

“Pity,” he said, while climbing into the cabin, “I planned to sing  _ A Whole New World  _ for you during this ride.” 

Lucien slid on the bench opposite to Rhys and sighed in exasperation. “Fey, please tell me we can chuck him off once we’ve reached the top.”

Feyre joined him on the bench and leaned her head against his shoulder, seizing up Rhys like a cat eyeing a bowl of cream. Rhys smirked back at them and whipped out his phone, snapping another picture.

“Maybe after the top. I want my kiss first,” she declared.

The boys blinked at her in surprise. 

“Fey, you believe that urban legend?” Lucien asked. Rhys was practically glowing with glee.

Feyre gave a little snort. “No, but I still want to give it a shot. I’d do everything to have this here forever,” she said, smiling up to Lucien. 

Lucien’s heart gave a powerful thud, swelling to double its size by how it felt, and he crushed Feyre to his chest, too overcome with emotions for words.

“And there you go telling me I’m a hopeless romantic,” Rhys muttered under his breath, but stood up and squeezed onto the bench next to Feyre, hugging her back and Lucien by default. 

“Come on now, gentlemen, we’re almost at the top. How’re we gonna do this?” Feyre giggled and tried to free herself from her boyfriends’ embrace. “Who kisses whom first?”

“Oh no, all of us have to kiss each other at the same time”. 

Rhys was being very adamant about it. He stood up and kneeled in front of the bench, so he was facing both his lovers. “The moment we reach the top, we kiss.”

And although it was just a made-up urban legend and they were clearly being silly, Lucien couldn’t help the strange excitement and quiet nervousness that made his stomach flutter. Eyes on the cabin above them, they marked the point when they would reach the highest elevation and when they did, both Feyre and Lucien leaned forward to meet Rhys’ lips. 

It was horrible - their noses got in the way, Feyre and Lucien bumped heads when they tilted them, but somehow they managed to have their lips touch. They broke away giggling and rubbing their heads, Rhys massaging his nose that had somehow gotten squished.

“I imagined this to be more romantic,” Rhys admitted.

They all burst into laughter and Rhys joined them on the bench again. Lucien pulled out his cellphone for a commemorative selfie. It turned out pretty nice, so Lucien decided to it to Vassa, who’d refused to join them today.

He was about to put the phone away, when it buzzed: Vassa had answered.

Lucien’s laughter died on his lips when he read the message and a strangled gasp escaped him, earning him instant attention from Feyre and Rhys.

“What is it, babe?” Rhys asked.

Lucien stared at them with his mouth hanging open. Realizing how silly he must look, he closed his mouth and swallowed.

“Vassa.... She just informed me she’s moving out. And she’s asking…,” Lucien’s heart started into overdrive as he locked gazes with his girlfriend. “She’s asking if Feyre wants to move into her room.”

They sat together in pregnant silence for a minute, before Feyre turned to look at Rhys. 

“Say, do you know of anymore urban legends? If yes, do tell. Because it seems like this one worked!”

 


	14. Meet-(Un)Cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** Feysand ***
> 
> based on this prompt:  
> For the prompts: Rhys crashes his car into Feyre's when it's all icy because he just moved there and doesn't know how to drive in it yet. No one is hurt! But then he flirts relentlessly with her

_Shit._

Rhys frantically propelled the steering wheel and hit the brakes in an attempted to get the car to stop, but he immediately realized that had been a mistake. The rear broke out and Rhys tore the steering wheel into the other direction to avoid the car turning in the middle of the street. It worked, but she car still shot forward - and crashed into a car parked on the other side of the street.

Rhys was pressed forward, the security belt digging painfully into his shoulder and chest, and his head snapped into his chest and back up, making his neck strain with the effort to support it.

And then everything stopped.

Dimly, he realized he was alive. Okay even, aside from his head that had been jostled around quite a bit and the places where the seatbelt had bit into his skin. He could still feel his legs, he wasn’t bleeding anywhere as far as he knew and he still has all his teeth. Seems like he’d gotten lucky.

And then someone ripped the driver door open.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Rhys slowly turned his head, mindfully of his still aching neck and beheld the most beautiful creature his eyes had ever had the grace to lay upon.

“I’m not sure,” he pressed out.

The beautiful creature wrinkled her brow and let her gaze sweep over him for a quick check.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked matter of factly. Her voice was like the rain after a draught.

“No, nothing hurts. Well aside from my head and chest. But I think I might’ve died.” The creature gave him a confused look. “See, I must be in heaven, because I’m seeing an angel,” he said with a faint smirk.

To his delight, the angel rolled her eyes at him.

“Seriously? You crash into my car, making enough of a spectacle for me to hear it from inside my house, and then you have the nerve to _flirt_ with me when I, like a decent human being, check, whether or not you died? Get out of your car, you prick! I want you to see the damage you’ve caused.”

With that she straightened and stepped away from the car, so Rhys could get out. He fumbled with the seatbelts, taking longer than usual to undo the clasp, but then he slowly climbed out.

But when he tried to stand up straight, he was hit by a dizzy-spell. Rhys’ arm shot out on reflex to grab onto something and was instantly grabbed by two strong hands.

“Hey, hey. Careful!” the angel said, steadying him.

“What can I say, you sweep me of my feet, darling,” he joked weakly.

“Oh, will you stop!” she hissed and then tugged at his arms insistently. Rhys followed her willingly. Everything was a haze and he felt nauseous and weak.

The angel led him to her house and inside, gently pushing him down onto a couch.

“Sit here and don’t move. I’m going to call the police and the tow truck,” she said sternly. But Rhys was too distracted by her stunning blue-grey eyes to listen to anything she said.

“Was your father a thief?” he asked dazed.

“Excuse me, what?”

“He must’ve been, because I think he stole all the stars from the sky and hid them in your eyes.”

“That’s it! I’m calling a paramedic. You’ve clearly hit your head,” she said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “How else can anyone throw around cheesy pick-up lines, after they’d had an accident?”

Rhys looked up the to beautiful, agitated woman in front of him. She was even stunning when pissed-off.

“Can you blame me? I just had a near-death experience. Gotta make do with the time I have left. The next accident might kill me!”

Just as he said this, Rhys started trembling viciously. He pressed his hands together to keep them from shaking, but it didn’t help. He couldn’t stop shaking.

The angel suddenly turned and left, leaving Rhys behind on the couch. But he couldn’t think about that now. He was too busy drowning in the panic that had suddenly set in.

An abrupt, sharp metallic sound make him flinch and look up. The angel was back and sat down next to him in the couch, pushing a can of pop into his hand.

“Drink. It’s the shock. Some sugar will help,” she said in a soft, calm voice.

When he didn’t react right away, she put the can to his lips, tilting it. Rhys drank clumsily, his eyes never leaving hers. When she put down the can, his breathing was labored.

“Shhh,” she made, running a hand over his hair in a soothing caress. “It was scary, wasn’t it? Your alright now. Drink.”

Rhys followed her command and took the can, taking small sips at first, and then thirstily finishing the whole thing in a few, big gulps. When he sat down the can, his hands were still trembling, but not as badly as before.

“Thank you …”

The angel smiled. “Feyre. My name’s Feyre.”

“Thank you, Feyre! Really! And I’m sorry about your car!” Rhys apologized in all earnesty. “I just moved here and I’m not used to driving automatic. And neither do I have experience driving in this kind of weather,” he explained. Rhys knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop. “I know that’s not an apology for wrecking your car, but -”

“Oh well,” she bit down on her bottom lip, her lips tugging upwards at the corners.

“If I’m completely honest, I hate that car. My boyfriend - well, ex-boyfriend now - bought it for me without asking and I never liked it. I was actually thinking about getting rid of it, but then why give away a perfectly good car? And selling a car that was given to me as a gift feels really wrong too. Now I have an excuse to get another car!” she said with a little mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “So I guess thank you?”

Rhys laughed and she fell right in.

“Don’t worry, my insurance will cover the cost. If not, I’m coming with you and personally buy you whatever car you want. I’m Rhysand, by the way, but my friends call me Rhys.”

“I’d like to say nice to meet you, but…” Feyre said with a devious smile.

“Well then, Feyre darling, allow me to revert your first impression of me,” Rhys purred, finally feeling a bit more like himself again.

“What are you doing this weekend?”


	15. Going to the Mall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** Feysand ***
> 
> Based on this prompt:  
> Feysand where Rhys is mall security and Tamlin and Feyre get into an argument he gets to break up
> 
> Heavily inspired by this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5jpMBS81X0c

Rhys was so bored, his yawns were yawning. Not for the first time did he curse Cassian for being the idiot that he was.

Thanks to his stupid brother trying to impress some random chick by jumping from the roof into the pool and consequently breaking his arm, Rhys had to jump in and fill in on Cassian's summer job as mall security guard.

Rhys couldn't imagine anything more boring. He stood around all day, patrolled the same hallways over and over again, and was hit on by exhausted moms and middle aged woman. Really, he was working his dream job. At least the pay was decent. Not that Rhys had any trouble with money, but it was nice to earn something on the side.

Just as he rounded another toddler and his mom on chase, his walkie-talkie beeped to life.

“Rhysand? There's a commotion at the 'thing’. Go take a look!”

“Alright,” Rhys confirmed and made his way over to where the ‘thing’ was happening. Some idiot had requested the permit to propose to his girlfriend in the middle of the mall, a little band accompanying him. He even asked to set up a speaker system so his proposal could be heard far and wide.

 _I'd run if I were the girl_ , Rhys thought and snorted silently. A mall proposal? He couldn't imagine anything more ridiculous. For him, proposals were supposed to be private affairs, sharing a special moment between just two people who agreed to commit even further to each other. To make it a public spectacle, in a _mall_ no less, was an abomination, a gross perversion of something so sacred and important. But well, that was his personal opinion. Some people, it seemed, liked it.

But apparently the bride-to-be hadn't liked the show at her expense at all, because halfway to the 'thing’, he was met with a fuming woman, stomping away from the venue. After her followed a man who kept crying after her frantically.

“Feyre! Feyre stop, please! Please just stop. Why? Feyre!”

The woman - Feyre - ignored him and marched on, every step betraying her agitation.

Rhys stopped to observe the situation. The man caught up with her and gripped her arm, but she swiveled around and tore her arm from his grip. The man flinched and Rhys couldn't blame him - the way her eyes were shooting daggers at him would send any man running. She was fierce. And beautiful in her anger. Rhys was instantly hooked.

“Don't. You. Touch. Me!” she said loud and clear, her voice sharp like a knife. “We are over. Don't call me, don't message me, don't show up in front of my door. I'm done with you!”

“No, Feyre, nonono. Please don't do this. You don't understand. I love you. Please just… we'll forget it for now, okay? I can wait. I'll always wait!”

The man reached out and held her, putting his hands on her upper arms and trying to pull her closer.

That was is. Rhys straightened his shoulders and walked over to them.

“Sir, I must ask you to let go of her,” he said sternly and with as much command as he could muster. At least he was taller than the guy. Rhys hoped, coupled with his loud, deep voice, it gave him some semblance of authority.

Apparently not, because the guy barely even glanced at him and snarled, ”get lost” before continuing to hold onto the girl, who was visibly struggling and squirming to escape his hold.

“Sir, she clearly said, she doesn't want to be touched by you. I must ask you again - kindly - to let go of her.”

For emphasis, Rhys placed a hand on the guys arm and squeezed hard. With a surprised yelp, the man let go. Rhys hadn't squeezed hard enough to hurt him, but he wasn't working out for nothing. His grip strength was something even Cass was jealous of.

“Thank you, sir!” the girl, Feyre, said and turned her gaze to him.

The moment her stunning blue-grey eyes locked with his, he forgot where he was and what they were doing. She had been intriguing from far away, but this close, she was breathtaking. The way she held herself, the energy she emitted, the piercing gaze that held his - Rhys was gone, lost in the stormy depths that were her eyes.

No, he decided, he couldn't blame the dude for not wanting to let her go. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

He seemed to have a similar effect on her, because for a few heartbeats, all they did was stare at each other. Only an angry growl somewhere next to them startled them out of their contemplation of the other.

Feyre blinked rapidly a few times and then averted her eyes, a faint blush spreading over her cheeks. Rhys couldn't help but smirk. Oh, he knew that look. She was clearly interested in him.

“Sorry, but could you fuck off,” the forgotten and forsaken suitor barked at Rhysand. “I wanna talk to my girlfriend.”

Feyre's head snapped around and Rhys was impressed how fast she could turn from blushing to spitting fire. “I'm not your girlfriend, Tamlin. Not anymore. We're over! You fuck off.”

“Feyre,” the guy pleaded, reaching for her again, but Feyre sidestepped and moved closer to Rhys, who immediately took a protective stance in front of her.

Tamlin’s jaw locked and he glowered at Rhys.

“Feyre,” he barked in a commanding voice this time. “Come here.”

“I'm not a fucking dog,” Feyre snarled from behind Rhys’ back.

Rhys suddenly felt a hand settle between his shoulder blades, fisting the cloth of his uniform. She was clearly afraid of the guy.

“Sir, I think the lady has made it clear, that she does not want to come with you or be touched by you. I must ask you to leave. Else, you will be removed by force.” Just in case, Rhys palmed his walkie-talkie, so he could alarm the other guards immediately.

Tamlin's jaw worked, but after a few seconds and a last look at Feyre, he turned and left. Behind him, Feyre gave a sigh.

“Thank you,” she breathed and let go of his shirt. Rhys turned to her and studied he face.

“Are you okay? Do you need to sit down or something?”

He had really no clue what to do, now that he'd broken up the fight. Feyre shook her head and gave him a little, thankful smile. It gave Rhys butterflies.

“No, I’m fine. I’ll call my sister to come pick me up. He’ll probably wait around to ambush me outside,” she said with the cutest little frown.

“In this case, I’ll stay with you until your sister arrives,” Rhys declared. “We can’t have him abducting you on my watch,” he added with a little wink and a smirk. If he was being honest, he just wanted to stay with her longer.

She giggled and blushed again, looking utterly adorable while she did.

“Just because I’m curious, were you the guys with the proposal?” Rhys asked.

Feyre groaned and put her head in her hand.

“Please don’t remind me,” she moaned. “That was so embarrassing! I actually wanted to break up with him today. And then he suddenly whips out a microphone and starts saying stuff like ‘my cutie pie’ and a fucking band turns up and he starts getting down on one knee…”

“Wow, what a tool!” Rhys immediately slapped his hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that!”

But Feyre waved her hand dismissively. “No, it’s fine.”

“And you just turned around and left?”

“No,” she confessed with a sheepish little smile. “I took the ukulele one of the band members was playing and whacked it over his head. Then I turned around and left.”

Rhys burst out laughing. “I would’ve paid good money to see that! How long have you been dating, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He really couldn’t imagine how someone like her ended up with such an idiot.

“3 months,” she deadpanned. “And only, because he was persistent and wouldn’t take no for an answer when asking me out.”

“Wow! What a tool! I totally mean it this time!”

Feyre grinned broadly at him and Rhys breath caught at the sight. Her whole face lit up and warmth crept into those steely, bluish-grey eyes.

“He is, isn’t he?” she laughed softly. “Thanks again for saving me! He’s really hard to get rid of.”

“No, my pleasure. I mean, you’re welcome,” Rhys mumbled shyly.

They were standing around in awkward silence for a moment, glancing at each other out of the corner of their eyes. Feyre’s cheeks were still slightly pink and she shifted around of her feet a lot. Rhys rubbed the back of his neck just to have something to do with his hands.

“I’m Rhysand by the way. Well, Rhys for friends,” he blurted out suddenly.

Feyre looked up to him. “Nice to meet you… Rhys. I’m Feyre.”

“Feyre,” Rhys repeated.

She blushed massively at hearing him pronounce her name and nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Say, Feyre,” Rhys said, repeating her name just because he could and because he loved how it rolled over his tongue. “I know this is probably the worst possible timing ever and super inappropriate, but can I take you out for coffee some time?”

“Okay,” she said without hesitation. “But only under one condition!”

Rhys cocked an eyebrow at her. He was so happy she’d actually said yes, he’d agree to anything! “What condition?”

“Please take me anywhere but the mall!”

 


	16. Un(fair) Advantage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** Elain vs. Rhys ***
> 
> Prompt: Rock-Paper-Scissors Elain and rhysand are playing rock paper scissors for the last cookie, but they tie every time. Because Elain can see the future, and Rhys keeps hearing her thoughts because she sucks at shielding her mind.

“Here, my High Lady,“ Mor said with a wink, handing Feyre a glass of wine, full to the brim.

Feyre thanked her with a smile and then turned her attention back to her mate and sister, who had been engaging in an everlasting battle for dominance and earning the right to the last cookie.

“Rock, paper, SCISSORS,” they both yelled simultaneously and revealed their hand: rock. For both.

It came to no surprise to either Mor of Feyre, who had had the pleasure of watching Elain and Rhys tie for the last 3 hours. Every damn time.

“Damn it Elain,” Rhys growled.

His cheeks were pink from battle fever and his eyes had taken on a dangerous glint. Elain was looking no better, her own face flushed and her usually immaculate hair disheveled.

“Just lose and we’re good,” Elain proposed with a sickly-sweet smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Rhys scoffed. “Yeah right. That won’t happen. Ever!”

Glaring at each other, they started anew. “Rock, paper –“

Feyre averted her gaze with a bemused smirk. They would be going at it until one of them or both collapsed from hunger or exhaustion, because there was no way either of them would win. Not as long as they kept cheating by using their powers.

Elain was using the second sight, her seer’s gift, to foresee what hand Rhys would present, going for something to beat it. Rhys, in the most shocking display of abuse of power, read Elain’s mind for which hand she was going to present. Only, he kept confusing Elain’s prediction of his hand as her plans, so he always ended up choosing the counterpart – same as Elain.

To be fair, it was really hard not to hear Elain’s mind or get confused by it. For the first time Feyre understood what Rhys had meant that time when he talked about her mind being open like her yelling down her thoughts down a bridge. Elain was almost uncomfortably unguarded, sending out a constant, jumbled-up torrent of visions and thoughts all mixed together, so they were hard to discern.

She was transmitting especially loud, when either Lucien or Azriel happened to be around. Feyre was both amused and shocked by the naughty, depraved thoughts Elain entertained when it came to them both, practically blaring them out for all the daemati and other gifted mind readers to hear. Feyre had wondered more than often how much Azriel’s shadows told him and exactly how much a non-daemati like Lucien could make out over the bond.

“It’s getting tedious, isn’t it?” Mor asked, stretching her spine like a cat and shifting to get comfortable on her settee.

“Quite,” Feyre agreed. “Should I speed it along?”

Mor was so surprised, she almost slipped from her settee. “You tell me you can stop this madness and haven’t already?” she asked with wide eyes. “Why?”

Feyre shrugged and took another sip of her wine. “Educational purposes. I sure like seeing Rhys frustrated for once. He’s so horribly good at everything else, it’s disgusting.”

Mor choked out a strangled laugh. “True. Still, I need this to end.”

Feyre giggled and focused her attention on Elain, feeling around for the bright, thrumming pulse of strange magic that had been gifted to her by the Cauldron. Feyre carefully ran her talons over it. She felt it purring under her touch, recognizing a kindred magic. And then it focused its whole attention to her. Feyre shivered then when what felt like a hundred eyes were suddenly directed towards her.

Sleep, Feyre whispered to it and plunged it in a thick, impenetrable darkness. Elain’s sight went still and quiet in less than a heartbeat. At the same time, Feyre slammed down the thickest and sturdiest shield around Elain’s mind to keep out Rhys. She immediately felt Rhys’ own talons rake over the walls of adamant, probing for a weakness. She slapped them back.

_ Tut tut!  _ Feyre spoke against his own shields.  _ No more cheating. Try to win square and fair! _

Rhys pouted at her, but didn’t try to break her shield. Elain frowned, irritated at the sudden loss of her second sight, but to Feyre’s surprise she shrugged it off, thinking she was tired.

Which of course didn’t deter her from going for another round of rock-paper-scissor with Rhys. A round she finally, finally won.

“Yes!” she screamed, throwing her hands into the air in triumph, the same time as Rhys yelled, “Noooooo!”

Casting a smug smile at Rhys, she made her way to the table, to claim her prize, but the cookie plate was woefully empty. Elain’s face fell.

“Where’s my cookie?”

Nesta, who sat next to Feyre, cradling a book in her lap, snorted without bothering to look up. “Cassian snatched up that damn cookie hours ago.”

Elain looked so comically heartbroken, Feyre and Mor burst out laughing. Only Rhys, good sportsman that he was, patted Elain’s arm consolingly.

“Then what is my prize?” Elain asked with a whimper.

Again, it was Nesta who answered. Although this time, she snapped her book shut and looked up, narrowing her eyes at her sister.

“Shield training. With me or Feyre or whoever. Because, Elain, I swear if I hear you yelling  _ Firedick _ in your mind one more time that damn fox enters the room, I’ll castrate him.”

 


	17. Must Tell the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre x Mor (and Inner Circle)
> 
> Based on this prompt: "Must tell the truth" Mor has the power of truth, so what if she uses it on the IC?

“Hey Mor?”

“Hmm?”

“How exactly does that truth magic of yours work? Feyre had been wondering about this for a while now. “I mean, that time with the human Queens, you said something along the lines about speaking truth. So does that mean you can’t lie?”

Mor blinked her eye open and turned her face to Feyre. They were lying in lounge chairs on a sundeck at the House of the Wind, enjoying the first rays of the pale Spring sun after a long and surprisingly harsh winter.

Mor languidly stretched her spine and then fished for her glass of wine on the table between them.

“I can lie. But when I speak truth, I can make people recognize the truthfulness of my words,” she explained between sips.

Feyre’s brow furrowed, pondering her friend’s answer.

“So could you lie to someone and make them believe it’s the truth?” she asked, nibbling on a grape.

“No,” Mor sighed. “I wish it was as easy as that.” She worried her lower lip, her face scrunched as if she was thinking hard.

“Truth is a power that is inherent to the night, as knowledge is to the day. Like when you sleep, you often find the hidden truth of things, only they escape you when you wake. You know what I mean?”

Feyre angled her head, thinking. “Like when you’re about to fall asleep and suddenly you find the answer to a question? Or remember things you have forgotten?”

Mor gave her a nod of approval. 

“Exactly. The truth is a beautiful, yet cruel thing. Too much of it hurts, so people yearn to shield their minds from the truth. Some do it voluntarily, denying whatever truths they deem uncomfortable. Others do it subconsciously, because their minds couldn’t bear knowing the truth. But it is always there, hidden away in the dead of the night. So my gift is like whispering the hidden truths to someone who is deep asleep. I can penetrate those shields and filters they put in place, making them see truth. Even if they actively refuse to.” Mor shot Feyre a quick sideways glance. “If I wanted to, I could probably shatter minds as easily as Rhys can.”

Feyre shuddered violently. She’d seen how effortlessly Rhys had killed that summer fairy Under the Mountain. She herself possessed that power.

“Did you ever -”

“Yes.” Mor’s chocolate eyes were blazing. “I don’t like to, but I do when I must.”

Feyre met her friends gaze head on. “A terrible power.”

Mor sighed and closed her eyes, collecting herself. “It is. It is actually a power that belongs to the High Lord of the Night Court or the High Lord’s heir,” she admitted.

Feyre gasped in understanding. “So when they say you showed powers on the likeness of an heir when growing up -”

“Yes,” Mor nodded. “It was my truth magic. Well, that and the tremendous amount of magic that I wield, of course,” she added with a sly grin, flicking her blond curls over her shoulder.

“Of course,” Feyre added in mock seriousness, before they both burst into giggles.

“Rhys father actually possessed the same magic as me,” Mor confessed. “So Rhys - and you by extension - might have it too. Then again, I guess your daemati powers are a kind of truth magic of their own,” Mor mused, attempting to take another sip of her wine, only to find the glass empty. With a snap of her fingers, the glass was immediately filled to the brim again.

“Huh.”

Silence stretched between them, both deep in thought. Now that she thought about it, Feyre realized that most magical artefacts related to the Night Court were related to Mor’s truth magic. The orb, that could project images, was used to show places that others couldn’t see for themselves, showing them a reality they hadn’t realized existed. The ouroboros, that reveals the true nature of a person, showing them the truth about themselves, ugly as it might be. Even though she was High Lady and had been for the last 100 years, it seemed that she had yet to learn a great deal about her own Court.

And then she remembered something that made her grin.

“Hey Mor?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you know that when I was still human and was taken to Spring by Tamlin, I believed than Faeries couldn’t lie?” Feyre confessed with a huge smile.

Mor started laughing hysterically. “Cauldron, that’s hilarious! We are the most shameless liars in the whole wide world. If you live as long as Fae do, you get really skilled at lying.”

“Yet, it’s a common believe with humans. Like iron hurts Faeries,” Feyre continued.

Mor laughed to hard, she had to hold her belly.

“You now what I think? I think that belief might actually be your fault.”

This got Mor’s attention and she calmed down a little, eyeing Feyre curiously. “How so?” she asked, wiping a tear out of the corner of her eye.

“Well, the human Queens knew who you were and that you could speak truth. Maybe this knowledge filtered down and - “

“And people assumed it applied to all Fairies,” she said in a strange voice that rang strange in Feyre’s ears. She was suddenly seized by a weird, overwhelming sense of knowing. Feyre gasped.

“Mor, did you just -”

“Ups!” Mor looked slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to do this. I just realized a truth and spoke it.”

“So that’s how it feels like to be spoken truth to,” Feyre mumbled, rubbing her collarbone absentmindedly, trying to get rid of the strangeness she felt. Like she’d grown an extra limb, or like her body was heavier than a second ago. She was shaken to her core by the sheer force of her new knowledge. No wonder people lost their minds, when something so little managed to rattle her this much. “Huh!”

“Sorry. I was just a bit excited about finding a truth. I slipped” Mor apologized again.

“So you cannot only speak truth, but find it?” Feyre asked frowning. This truth magic was really quite complicated.

“Ah, yes. I can discern truth from deceit and see the true nature of things.”

“Come again?”

Mor gave her a bemused smile.

“Well, to put it plainly: I can smell a lie 5 miles against the wind. I’m practically a bullshit detector.”

“Mor, that’s awesome!” Feyre exclaimed with glee.

Mor scrunched up her nose in distaste. “No, it’s really not. I usually bury that power, because people lie all the time, even without them knowing. It’s really annoying. Makes my head buzz.” She waved her hand around wildly for emphasis. “It’s like a swarm of mosquitos flying around your head at all times.”

Feyre’s interest was piqued. “People lie a lot?”

“Well, duh! I mean, how often do you say I’m not hungry when you’re actually hungry or some other white lie. Makes my head spin. Also, I don’t need my magic to call Cassian and Rhys on their bullshit.”

Feyre laughed heartily. “True!”

Conjuring her own glass of wine out of thin air, Feyre thought about all the little lies she and Rhys told daily, just to be polite or respectful. And then she had a thought.

“Hey Mor?”

“Hmm?"

* * *

 

Dinner was in full force when Mor shot Feyre a glance, waiting for her signal. Feyre nodded and winked, telling her she could begin.

Mor took a deep breath and downed her wine, before letting go of the limiter she usually kept on her power.

Rhys immediately noticed the shift and frowned at his mate and his cousin, prodding gently against Feyre’s shield. She opened the tiniest sliver in her walls for him.

 _Feyre darling, care to tell me what the two of you are planing_? Rhys asked with a raised eyebrow.

Feyre picked up her wine glass. _I have no clue what you’re talking abo_ ut, she replied, innocently sipping her wine.

Across the table, Mor flinched and mumbled something under her breath, before shooting Feyre a dirty look. Feyre bit her lip and shot her an apologetic look in return. So Mor could even pick up on her lies when she was thinking them. No wonder she usually shoved that power deep, deep down inside of her.

Rhys picked up their exchange and understanding started lighting his eyes. With a smirk, he leaned back into his chair, casually throwing one arm over the backrest and sipping his wine. _You have no clue what you have done, High Lady. This will be terrible!_ he said, looking horribly smug.

Feyre shrugged. _We’ll see_.

Mor hadn’t flinched during their conversation, so Rhys had meant what he said. Interesting. But Feyre wasn’t defeated this easily. Turning around in her chair, she zeroed in on her intended target for the night.

“Say, Nesta, when will you finally agree to go on a date with Cassian?”

Nesta looked up from her dinner and glared imperiously at her sister. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mor made a face as if her teeth were hurting. “Bullshit,” she whispered softly.

Nesta swirled around faster than the eye could see. “Excuse me?”

“Bullshit,” Mor repeated more loudly.

Cassian, who sat opposite them both jerked so violently, his wings flared and almost knocked Amren out of her chair. Amren didn’t seem to mind, she actually looked like she was having fun, fixing her silver eyes on Mor and Nesta. Azriel gave a surprised soft laugh while looking at Mor, his shadows curling around his ears and whispering so intently, Feyre could almost hear what they said. Lucien and Elain mostly just looked really confused.

“Mor,” Cassian choked out. “Did you just -”

“Yeah,” she said, stuffing a roasted potato into her mouth. “I call bullshit on that.”

“What do you mean?” Nesta asked stiffly.

Mor pointed her knife to Nesta. “Feyre asked, when you will finally agree to go on a date with Cassian. You said, you don’t know what she was talking about. That was a lie. My magic is truth. So I call bullshit.”

Nesta’s spine locked and she grew even stiffer.

“So, Nesta, when will you agree?” Feyre repeated her question.

She loved her sister dearly, and she had known Nesta had needed more time to heal after their father’s death, but frankly, Feyre was annoyed that Nesta had kept her friend waiting for a _whole damn century,_ although they were clearly into each other.

“Never.”

“Bullshit!” Mor said, cringing. “Really, that hurt like a bitch! That lie is so big, it’s making by head explode.”

“Well I hope it explodes very soon then!” Nesta seethed.

They all turned to Mor, waiting for her reaction. “That one’s actually true,” she said with a little frown. “Now that’s not very nice!”

“Nesta!” Feyre and Elain both cried, but their sister kept staring at Mor in outrage.

Cassian seemed to have caught himself, because he leaned forward towards Nesta, crossing his arms on the table. “Do you want to go on a date with me tomorrow, sweetheart?”

Nesta looked at him like she’d rather rip his head off. “No!”

“Bullshit,” Mor said, rubbing her temple. That lie must’ve been a big one, hurting like this.

“Will you stop it?” Nesta hissed, her magic starting to rise from its slumber. She was starting to get seriously pissed.

“Stop lying and we’re good,” Mor shot back, her irritation growing with every lie Nesta told.

“Admit it, Nesta. You actually really want to go on a date with Cassian,” Rhys purred.

“I. DO. NOT!”

Mor winced, cradling her head between her hands. “BULLSHIT!”

Cassian shot Mor a worried glance. “I’ll pick you up at 7 pm, Nes,” Cassian said with a sweet smile in Nesta’s direction.

“I won’t be there.”

“Bullshit.”

“Ok, then 8?”

“Worse!”

“Bullshit!”

“Ok, 8 it is then, sweetheart. I’m really looking forward to our date.”

Nesta turned to Mor, like she was expecting her to confirm that Cassian was lying.

“What?” Mor asked defensively, “that was the truth. Is it so hard to accept that a guy who has been asking you out for the last 100 years actually means what he’s saying?”

“Yes,” Nesta deadpanned.

Cassian looked really hurt. “Nesta, you do realize that I care about you deeply, don’t you?”

Instead of answering, Nesta chose to busy herself with her wine. Rhys cocked his eyebrow at Feyre. _Happy now, darling?_ She gave him a mighty scowl and Rhys chuckled softly at her.

Annoyed, Feyre turned to Cassian. “You are in love with Nesta, aren’t you?”

Elain gasped excitedly, slapping her hand in front of her mouth. Amren and Azriel, who had followed the conversation with quiet amusement now fixed their attention on Cassian. Rhys shook his head at Feyre and gave Cassian a rueful smile, as if he wanted to apologize for his mate’s ruthlessness.

Cassian looked at Feyre like she had betrayed him, but her regret was shallow at best. They all knew, he couldn’t get out of answering this one. _You can’t continue like this_ , Feyre spoke to his mind. She’s too stubborn. _You want to wait for another century or two? Be grateful I didn’t ask about the mating bond!_

Cassian flipped her off, making Feyre smile.“Yes”, he answered, but instead of Feyre, he looked at Nesta. “I’m in love with her.”

Nesta grew still like a stature, not moving, her breathing shallow. “I don’t believe you.”

Mor groaned and buried her head in her arms. “Aw come on Nesta. Bullshit! Can you please admit it?”

That last sentence rang with that same weird awareness like it had that afternoon. Nesta’s constant lying had worn Mor out, her irritation palpable and her shields growing brittle. Feyre accidentally caught a glimpse of her thoughts, realizing what Mor was about to do even before she had consciously made that decision herself.

“Mor, DON’T” Feyre yelled, but it was too late.

Enthralled in her magic, Mor spoke the truth that she had come to realize. “You’re in love with Cassian!”

Feyre and everyone else on the table stopped breathing when Mor’s magic seized them, forcing them to realize what most of them had known for a while now, but had either ignored or chosen to stay silent about. And then Feyre’s heart started beating wildly and hot tears sprang to her eyes. The force of that truth was so bittersweet and heart wrenching, she couldn’t help but cry about it.

With soft sobs, Feyre cried her heart out. Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her from behind and a pair of warm, leathery wings caught her in an embrace, forming a cocoon around her.

“I warned you, it would be terrible,” Rhys mewled into her ear, his hot tears falling onto her shoulder.

“Rhys,” Feyre whimpered, turning around and pressing her lips to him.

She was so full of love and tender feelings, she needed to share them. Rhys a kissed her softly, only interrupted by the occasional sob. After a minute or two, they had calmed enough to brush away their tears and Rhys retracted his wings, preparing to take in the damage the truth had caused to the others.

Elain was full out bawling on Lucien’s chest, who kept rocking her and softly patted her head. He was crying himself, his cheek pressed against her hair while tears slid down his cheek from his good eye. Azriel had cloaked himself in his shadows, no one able to see his face. Amren was smiling happily, her cheeks sporting a pretty blush.

And Mor was holding onto Nesta’s arm, repeatedly running a hand over her hair, mumbling “sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry Nesta, I didn’t mean to, I slipped, because you were telling so many lies, I’m so sorry.”

But the biggest surprise was Nesta.

She wasn’t exactly crying, but she was a deep crimson and her eyes glittered suspiciously. She was smiling faintly, glancing in Cassian’s direction and then quickly averting her eyes again, biting down on her bottom lip to keep herself from smiling wider. Her whole demeanor screamed ‘young girl in love’.

“Nesta?” Feyre choked out.

Her sister looked at her, for once without glaring.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Nesta tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a little smile. “No, it’s okay. It’s not like this was a surprise to anyone.”

Feyre stood up and rounded the table, hugging Nesta, still overflowing with feelings. “I love you Nes.”

“I love you, too,” Nesta replied softly.

“Cassian?”

Everyone turned their attention towards Rhys, who was softly prodding his brother’s shoulder. Cassian sat frozen in his chair, unblinking and completely motionless.

“What’s wrong with him?” Feyre asked sniffling.

“Ugh.” Mor looked sheepishly into the round. “Seemed like the truth was too much for him. His mind closed off.”

“So he basically fainted?” Rhys asked with a soft laugh. “Congrats Nesta, you broke him!”

Nesta looked alarmed. “Will he be ok?” she asked in a slightly panicked voice, raising from her seat and walking over to Cassian. She hesitantly touched his shoulders, but Cassian didn’t flinch.

Rhys narrowed his eyes at Cassian, searching his mind. “Yeah. But he probably won’t remember much.”

Nesta stared down at the petrified Illyrian. And then the stroked his head and - to everyone’s surprise - bend down to press a kiss into his hair. “That’s ok. I will tell him again tomorrow.”

Everyone whirled around to Mor, who shrugged with a little smile. “Truth.”

This time, even Amren cried.


	18. Chasing After You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** Feysand ***
> 
> Whenever you're doing prompts for writing could you pretty please do a feysand "I'll beat you there" after a night of (a few

**"** You guys really sure you want to do this?”

Rhys eyes flitted between his oldest and his newest friend.

“When have I ever backed down from a fight?” Cassian said with a slight slur, stretching his hamstrings.

Feyre finished tying off her hair in a high ponytail and scoffed. She ran her ponytail through her hand to smooth it out, and then turned to Rhys, pointing a finger at him. “You don’t need to be here Rhyshand!” she declared, sounding every bit as drunk as she looked.

“Yeah, Rice End!” Cassian affirmed. “Feyre and me will do it now.” He hitched up his other leg on the bench to stretch, almost falling over in the attempt. “If you don’t want to watch, you don’t have to.”

Rhys eyebrows knitted together and his face darkened. He knew Cassian probably didn’t mean to make it sound like they were about to have sex, but, nonetheless, Rhys had fight down the urge to punch his best friend and foster brother in the face.

He hated how jealous he was of Cassian when it came to his friendship with Feyre. He knew they were just friends and that Feyre wasn’t interested in Cassian - or anyone else for that matter -, not when she was still sad about breaking up with her ex, but he couldn’t help his feelings. Rhys harbored an unrequited love for Feyre Archeron, and seeing how cozy she was with his brother, killed him a little bit more every day.

Especially when she was still being awkward and distanced around Rhys, although they’d finally grown close enough be call themselves friends now. Compared to their stiff conversations, Feyre’s friendship with Cassian with was effortless, albeit competitive. Ridiculously so. That was why they were standing on their uni’s track field at 1am, about to have a drunk 400m race.

The whole clique had met up at their favorite watering hole after classes to celebrate the end of finals week with a few drinks. He didn’t exactly remember how it started, but after Rhys had come back to their table, carrying another round of shots, Cassian and Feyre had been glaring and yaping at each other.

When Rhys had asked Azriel what the fight was about, he had merely shrugged. “Cassian was teasing Feyre about her looking too thin and lacking muscle. Feyre said, better lean and swift than a being a hulking beefcake and moving like a turtle and so on. Now they’re bickering about who can run faster.”

Rhys had shaken his head and distributed the shots, amused to watch his friends argue. He loved seeing Feyre agitated and livid; it was so much better than her being sad and melancholic. Her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes sparkled beautifully, whenever she was angry. Rhys could’ve watched her the whole night.

But then Mor, who had been super annoyed by Feyre and Cassian’s shouting, because they were ruining her chances to flirt with the cute girl at the bar, suggested they just have a race to determine who the fastest runner was.

Only she probably didn’t mean right now, in the middle of the night, drunk of their ass. Which didn’t deter Cassian and Feyre from breaking into the sport’s compound and Rhys trailing them like the love-sick, jealous puppy that he was.

“I’ll wait for you at the finish line,” Cassian declared with a little hiccup, giving Feyre a shit-eating grin.

Feyre attempted to narrow her eyes at him, but it really just looked like she squinted at Cassian, because she was too damn drunk for any of this. “I’ll beat you there!”

“Wheresh the finish tsho?” Cassian asked, scratching his head. It was too dark to make out the lines on the ground and the chalk that was usually used was of course locked away, so they had no means to determine where the starting and finish line was.

“Rhysh will be the finish line,” Feyre declared, ripping her scarf off her neck and handing it to Rhys.

Confused, Rhys reached for the floral print fabric she held out for him. Their fingers brushed lightly and Rhys heart did a little somersault at the contact. Or that was, until he saw Feyre flinch slightly and withdraw her hand quickly. This time, it was his stomach doing the somersault - not in a good way. He clenched his teeth together and looked away.

Why was she always so uncomfortable with him, when she didn’t have any problems with Az or Cassian? The thought that Feyre might hate him was what kept Rhys up a night and took away his ability to breath.

“What’s the scarf for?” he asked, looking anywhere but at Feyre.

“Give the shtart shignal,” Feyre said with a little frown. “And mark the finish line!”

“Ok.” Rhys had no clue what she meant with marking the finish line with her scarf, but he guessed it didn’t matter. “So I’ll just wait here and whoever reaches me first, wins!”

Feyre and Cassian nodded and then took their start positions. Rhys raised the scarf above his head, feeling incredibly silly doing so.

“On my mark. Three, two, one - GO.”

In a swift motion, he pulled his arm down, letting the scarf flutter like a flag at a motor race, and the two dashed off. Cassian swiftly took the inner lane, planting himself in front of Feyre, but she kept surprisingly close. They were halfway down the lap, when Feyre actually passed him. Rhys swore he could hear Cassian grunt or curse all the way over the compound and then he picked up his pace - only to stumble over his feet and faceplant right into the dirt of the track field.  Feyre laughed loud enough for Rhys to hear, but kept running.

She was already rounding the final curve, when Cassian was still struggling to get on his feet. Rhys could see her grinning triumphantly when she neared him on the last meters.

And then, instead of passing him, she flung herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and laughing wildly. Rhys had never heard a more beautiful sound. Infected by her uncharacteristic joy, Rhys picked her up and swirled her around. “Rhys!” she squealed in surprise, holding onto him tighter. He gave a little, delighted laugh and went for another round. He only set her back on the ground, when Cassian came trudging up the lane, looking slightly queasy.

“Well Cass, it seems that Feyre beat you!” Rhys smirked.

“Uhg,” his brother made, hunching over and supporting himself on his bend knees.

“Cass, are you alright?” Rhys asked worriedly.

Cassian waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, muttering something that sounded like _sick_ and _toilet_ under his breath.

Rhys shook his head in exasperation and watched his friend crawl towards the bungalow that held the changing rooms and toilets. Served him right for running after drinking.

“Hey Rhys!”

Rhys turned towards Feyre, who gave him a playful, yet challenging smile. “Race me!”

Rhys chuckled softly. “No thanks, darling. I think we should go now. Cassian doesn’t look too good.”

But Feyre didn’t listen, instead she took off again, Cursing, Rhys set after her.

“Feyre!” Rhys whisper-shouted after her.

She turned, mid-run, sticking her tongue out to him, and then turned again. How she managed to do this while drunk defied all laws of physics.

“Feyre, stop, we need to go!”

So far, they had gotten lucky to not have caught by campus security, but at some point someone was bound to find them. She threw him a glance over the shoulder, and then suddenly took a sharp turn and dashed onto the green, running away from him.

“Chase me Rhys!” she laughed, her ponytail whipping behind her.

_Haven’t I always_ , he thought bitterly.

Rhys couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been in love with the woman sprinting in front of him. Since that very first moment when they met at bonfire night during orientation, he’d been secretly and desperately chasing after her.

Determined, Rhys picked up his pace and closed the distance between them, catching Feyre by the elbow. She turned again, with a wild smile and stopped running. Caught off-guard by her sudden halt, Rhys careened into her at full speed and they fell onto the grass in a tangle of limbs. Feyre laughed again, looking up at Rhys, who somehow had ended up on top of her.

“Damn, you caught me!” she laughed.

Rhys knew he should probably move away, crawl off her, but he couldn’t. Feyre laying there underneath him, looking flushed and disheveled and _happy_ was one of the most beautiful sights he could imagine. If he could, he would’ve taken a picture. So Rhys simply smiled down at her and stayed where he was. Feyre smiled in return and for once didn’t look uncomfortable at their proximity.

“Hey Rhys?”

“Hm?”

“I won that race with Cass,” she declared.

Rhys chuckled softly. “Yes, you did, darling.”

Feyre’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “So where’s my prize?”

Rhys didn’t hesitate. He dipped his head and pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek.

“Is that good enough of a prize?” he asked hoarsely after raising his head.

Feyre had stopped smiling. “No!”

And then she reached up, cradling the back of his head, and pulled him back down. “I want a proper kiss,” she demanded and put her lips on his.

Rhys mind shut down completely. All he knew was that Feyre was kissing him and he was kissing her back. Her lips were warm and soft and felt every bit as good as he has imagined. Still on top of her, Rhys cupped her cheeks and deepened the kiss, feeling bold and invincible right in this very moment. Feyre happily reciprocated.

“Hey!” Rhys and Feyre flinched and broke apart. _Campus security_ , was the first thought that went through Rhys’ head.

But instead it was Cassian looking down at them. Embarrassed, Rhys crawled off Feyre and helped her to her feet. But he happily noticed that she didn’t let go of his hand. Instead, the interlaced their fingers like lovers did.

“I’m misherable and puking and you guysh make out?” Cassian complained.

“Rhys was giving me my prize!” Feyre shot back.

“U’re a sore looser, Cass,” Rhys quipped. “If you wanted a kiss from me, you should’ve ran faster!”

Feyre burst into giggles and sidled closer to him and a dopey smile bloomed on Rhys face.

“Damn lovebirds,’ Cassian muttered and turned. “Let’s go back.”

Rhys felt his neck heat at the lovebirds comment and he glanced down at Feyre. She looked at him from under her lashes with a little smile.

“I like you,” Rhys declared, just in case the kiss hadn’t been indication enough.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Feyre quipped, sounding a lot less drunk all of a sudden.

A suspicion crept up on Rhys and he narrowed his eyes at Feyre. “You’re not actually that drunk, are you?”

Feyre gave a little snort. “No, I’m not. There would’ve been no way I could’ve beat Cassian if I were. He’s really fast for being such a giant.”

Rhys threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Cruel, wicked woman!”

Feyre gave him a wide grin. And then she stretched up and pulled him down to her once more, planting another kiss on his lips. Rhys breath caught in his throat.

“I like you too,” she confessed almost shyly.

Rhys couldn’t do anything other than nod and kiss her again, too damn happy for words. Feyre smiled and then started walking after Cassian, tugging Rhys along by their interlaced fingers.

“Oh, and Rhys?”

He had to clear his throat before he could answer.

“Yes?”

Feyre turned and walked backwards, still holding his hands, her eyes bright in the darkness of the sports compound.

“Thanks for chasing after me!”


	19. Hide and Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** Feysand ***
> 
> based on the prompt: “I need your help” drunk Mor waking up Feyre "I need your help I lost Rhysand"
> 
> *light smut*

“I need your help.”

Feyre grumbled and tried to feign sleep, but the hand shaking her shoulder was relentless. “Feyre!!!! I need your help. I lost Rhysand.”

This got her attention, a cold sliver of fear piecing her gut like an icicle. Blinking her eyes open as if she had been sleeping, Feyre turned to the swaying figure looming over her.

“What the fuck Mor? How can you lose Rhys?”

Her friend’s lip trembled and she plonked down on Feyre’s bed, the mattress dipping under her weight.

“I don’t know. Me and the boys kept drinking after you and Amren excused yourself, and suddenly, Rhys was gone. And now we can’t find him!”

Tears welled up in Mor’s chocolate eyes, threatening to fall.

Feyre pulled her blanket a bit higher, making sure she was properly covered.

“Did you check your room?” she asked her friend in a soothing voice. “Maybe he needed to lie down?”

“Cassian did. He’s not there! How did I lose my cousin?” Feyre’s roommate was seconds away from crying, when her phone suddenly chimed. Drunkenly, she palmed the device, dropping it twice before actually managing to unlock it.

“It’s Rhys!” Mor gasped in surprise, staring dumbly at the phone.

“Can I see?” Feyre asked, holding out her hand. Mor handed it over to her.

_Want something from the store? Stepped out for a minute._

Relief flooded Feyre, although it was probably a different kind of relief that Mor probably felt right now. Because Feyre knew exactly where Rhys was right this very moment. And it was certainly not the convenience store a few blocks over. But Mor didn’t need to know this.

Handing the cellphone back to Mor, Feyre smiled a reassuring, but sleepy smile. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon. No need to worry. Go back to whatever you’ve been doing with the boys. Or better -  go sleep, Mor! You’re wasted!”

Mor frowned at the phone and then slowly raised her gaze to look at Feyre, still visibly perplexed.

“Yeah. I’ll go sleep!” Mor leaned over and kissed Feyre’s cheek and stood up, swaying slightly. “Sorry for waking you!”

Feyre felt a little stab of guilt for lying at Mor, but she couldn’t help it. She really couldn’t tell her where Rhys was - not when Rhys was currently hiding under her blanket.

Feyre waited until Mor excited her room before quickly slipping out of bed and running to the door to lock it. Turning, Feyre leaned against the door to watch Rhysand emerge from under her blanket.

“That was a close shave,” he panted, gulping down air. “Thank god I had my phone on me.”

Feyre nodded and ogled him, enamoured with how cute he looked with his hair sticking up in every direction and his face red from heat and suffocation. Just then, her body heated remembering how he had just clung to her underneath the blanket, his face close to her crotch, his body situated between her legs. Feyre slowly made her way over to the bed again. Crawling on top, she slowly inched closer to Rhys, until she sat in his lap, straddling him.

“Couldn’t you think of a better lie? What will you do, when you ‘return’ from the store, bringing nothing back with you?” Feyre asked, running the fingers of both hands through Rhys’ hair, smoothing and fixing it. Rhys hummed and closed his eyes, bracing his hands on her hips and squeezing softly.

“They’ll be so drunk by then, they won’t notice.” Rhys leaned forward and gently bit her on the juncture of her neck and shoulder, exactly how she liked it. Goosebumps exploded all over her arms and Feyre gave a little shiver of delight. “They never do.”

He was right of course. This was not the first time they’d snuck out from a gathering with friends to secretly make out. But it was the first time they got to do so on a bed, with Feyre only wearing a shirt and sleeping shorts, her bra flung off the second she had stepped into her room. Rhys was still in jeans, but only his jeans. Feyre had pulled off his tee shirt just seconds before Mor had barged into her room. 

In her panic at being discovered, Feyre had shoved Rhys down and wrapped her legs around him, covering them with her blanket and pretended to be asleep.

Now, Feyre leaned down and slanted her lips back over Rhys’, pushing her tongue into his mouth. Rhys’ grip on her hips tightened before they slid up on her body, diving clean under her shirt and up her bare back. Feyre gasped a bit when he brought one hand to her front and cupped one breast, palming the naked flesh and brushing his thumb over her nipple. This he hadn’t done so far, but he should more often, Feyre decided. It felt wonderful. She moaned and Rhys, encouraged by the sounds she make, released her for a second to pull her shirt over her head, so she was topless in front of him.

Feyre didn’t know what they were. It had started one night, when they all had gotten drunk playing board games. They were in the kitchen, getting more snacks, when Rhys had suddenly hoisted Feyre up on the counter and started drunk making-out with her. Feyre had been mortified the next morning and avoided Rhys for a bit, but another drunken gathering with their friends had resulted in another fantastic make-out with - much tongue and fondling ensued.

And since then, the two of them were so horny for each other, they didn’t even need alcohol as an excuse anymore. They just waited until the others were drunk enough for them to sneak away and finally get their hands on the other. 

Feyre wasn’t sure, whether she was in love with Rhys, or if he was in love with her, or whether this was all just an experiment, but she sure knew she loved Rhys hands on her boobs and now also his mouth when he leaned forward and sucked a nipple into his mouth.

She threw her head back and moaned, fisting Rhys hair harder.

“You know, Feyre darling,” Rhys purred, licking the skin over her heart. “I wouldn’t mind getting back under that blanket for a bit. The position we were just in was giving me an idea.”

Feyre’s insides turned to jelly. “Did it now,” she asked in a breathy whisper.

Rhys smirked up to her and then threw her around, so she lay with her back on the bed. Rhys knelt between her legs, kissing down her stomach, while simultaneously pulling the blanket back up to cover him.

“Yeah. You only need to get rid of these adorable little shorts,” he said, his voice muffled by the heavy blanket and because his mouth was pressed against her hip, nibbling on the skin just over the waistband of her shorts.

“Why don’t you take them off for me,” she suggested coyly and dug her shoulder blades into the mattress, anxious and excited about what was to happen.

Rhys hooked his finger into the waistband and pulled her shorts down together with her underwear. And then she felt him spread her knees, his breath hitting her most private parts.

Feyre still didn’t know, what they were and if they loved each other, but she sure knew she sure loved this mouth of his - especially when he was putting it where he was putting it right now.


	20. A Friendly Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** Rowaelin ***
> 
> Prompt by my brain. I was at a wedding this weekend, and well, can't leave the house without inspiration hitting me :D

“Chaol is getting married!”

Rowan blinked in confusion at a very agitated Aelin, who stood in front of his door, panting slightly, hair up in a messy bun, sweat glistening on her forehead and neck. She must have run over to his place in a hurry.

He wordlessly let go of the door and went to his kitchen, opening the fridge to take out a bottle of water. Rowan didn't check to see whether Aelin had followed; he knew she would.

And indeed, when Rowan closed the fridge and turned, Aelin was standing in the doorway. “Didn't you hear what I said? Chaol is getting married!”

Rowan went over to her and pressed the cool plastic bottle to her heated cheek. Aelin flinched slightly but kept the bottle pressed against her skin when she took hold of it.

“Well, I'd say it's a bit fast, but if he's happy with Nesryn-”

“He's not marrying Nesryn!”

Aelin's beautiful gold and turquoise eyes were open wide, as is she was still in shock. Well, your ex-boyfriend getting married barely a year after breaking up with you and not to the girl he had been dating the last time you saw him was certainly a shocker.

Rowan cocked his head to the side. “Dorian then? I was wondering when they'd finally come out.”

Aelin snorted and shook her head. “It's not Dorian either. And he's dating that Manon chick, remember?”

Aelin pulled a card from the pocket at the back of her jeans and handed it to Rowan. Curiously, he took it. It was a wedding invitation, the front showing a picture of Chaol Westfall looking happier than Rowan had ever seen him and a pretty woman with long, curly hair and beautiful eyes the color or honey.

Rowan was surprised to see Chaol standing in the picture. Chaol, although not on duty, had gotten injured taking a bullet for his friend Dorian Havilliard, an aspiring young politician, injuring his spine and rendering unable to walk. But well, as a bodyguard who was friends with his assignment, one was never off duty.

“Yrene Towers. Do you know her?” Rowan asked.

Aelin shook her head and uncapped the water bottle, taking a deep swig.

“No,” she answered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand after setting down the bottle. “He must have met her during rehab.”

Rowan's gaze snagged on a sweaty strand of hair that stuck to Aelin's temple. His fingers itched with the impulse to reach out and brush it away, but he fought down the urge and instead took a kitchen towel out of the cabinet and handed it to Aelin. She took it with a thankful smile.

“Chaol and I haven't really kept that much in contact since he left for rebab,” Aelin said, her voice muffled by the towel she rubbed vigorously over her face. “I mean, we had our talk about the breakup and everything after, but it's still somewhat weird between us.” Aelin’s eyes peeked out from the towel, glancing at him from under her lashes. “We lost something with all that happened and I don't think we'll get it back. Our friendship will never be like before.”

Rowan nodded. He had met Chaol once or twice after becoming friends with Aelin, but from what Rowan had observed, the interactions between the former lovers had been cool and filled with angry tension and unaddressed issues. It didn't help that Chaol seemed jealous of Rowan, convinced that he and Aelin were a couple. Which they were not.

And here exactly lay the core of his recent problems: lately, Rowan found it very hard to fight his growing feelings for Aelin, but he did his best to ensure she wouldn’t notice. When they first met, they had hated each other with a passion, but they had soon found that they had more in common than what separated them.

Aelin was Rowan’s best friend, the one person who completely understood him, who shared his pain. He couldn't risk destroying this special bond they had with his one-sided feelings. After all, Aelin had never as much as hinted that she might be interested in more.

“How do you feel about it? Him getting married, I mean?”

Aelin sighed and leaned back against the kitchen counter, towel slung around her damp neck.

“I don't know,” she admitted, readjusting the bun on her head. Her eyes were unfocused, looking at something that wasn’t there “I'm happy for him, but at the same time I can't help but feel a bit… forlorn?” She frowned. “No, that's not the right word for it.”

“Do you still love him?” Rowan asked, careful to keep his voice neutral.

He didn't care to know, but at the same time, he did. After all, what did it matter if she did or didn't? _I have her friendship, no matter who has her heart_ , Rowan told himself.

Aelin snapped back to focus and turned to look at him, her eyes going soft. “No, I don't. But he'll always have a special place in my heart.”

Rowan’s lips curled upwards into the tiniest smile and he stepped closer, leaning against the counter next to Aelin, nudging her with his shoulder. She nudged back, smiling up him.

“So why exactly did you come running over to my place the second you get the wedding invitation?” Rowan asked.

This fast, her smile was replaced by a pout. Rowan tried very hard not to stare at her puckered lips.

_Who said I only got the invitation now, Buzzard?_ her eyes seemed to say.

Rowan raised one eyebrow. _So you're telling me you didn't, Fireheart?_

They held their stare for about a minute and then Aelin sighed, acknowledging her defeat. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Which is?”

“I need you to come with me as my plus one.”

Rowan crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Absolutely not.”

Rowan's friends were already teasing him enough about his friendship with Aelin, as did her cousin Aedion. If they ever found out he was her date for a wedding, they'd never shut up about it.

“Why not?”

“I hate weddings!”

“So do I. And?”

“Aelin, Chaol doesn't like me.”

“Yeah, well Chaol can be somewhat of an asshole sometimes.”

“He was convinced you cheated on him with me!”

Aelin rolled her eyes and dismissed his argument with a wave of her hand. “Please, we were broken up before I even met you. And who cares what he thinks about us. He's getting married! He has no business getting jealous over you.”

Rowan glowered and Aelin scowled right back.

“Fireheart!”

“Buzzard!”

They kept glaring at each other, both refusing to give in.

“Please, Rowan, do it for me!” Aelin finally said, batting her eyelashes at him.

This time it was Rowan who sighed in defeat. Aelin was playing dirty and she knew it. He never could deny her anything when she begged.

“Fine, you menace.”

Aelin rewarded him with a big smile that made his heart flutter and a hug around his middle, pressing her sweaty face against his chest.

Rowan knew he was in deep shit.

* * *

He was devastated. Completely and utterly devastated.

Aelin had just opened her door and presented herself in all her wedding finery, causing Rowan’s mouth to go dry and his knees to grow weak. He couldn’t help but look her up and down, taking in her appearance.

Her long golden hair was coaxed into smooth curls, pinned back on one side of her head and tumbling over her opposite shoulder. Rowan had seen Aelin wear make-up before, but he wasn’t prepared for the feelings her painted, bloodred lips caused him: they made him want to smudge the color, running his lips and fingers over her mouth.

But mostly, he wasn’t prepared for her outfit.

She was wearing a dress that was pure sin and that would surely get her thrown out of church before the wedding even started: a skin-tight, black velvet dress with a boat neckline and long sleeves, that clung to her body like wet fabric, leaving nothing to imagination, topped with heavy gold jewelry and red killer heels that made her beautiful, long, lean legs look even longer. No pantyhose.

The dress was so short, Rowan was positive she would flash her underwear if she bent over. Not that he was sure she _was_ actually wearing underwear, seeing that no panty lines were visible when she turned her backside to him to look her door.

The sight of her round, firm ass clad in the clingy, shiny fabric almost brought him to his knees. He didn’t manage to tear his eyes away before Aelin looked back over her shoulder. Rowan was sure she could read every depraved thought that ran through his head right at that moment from his eyes.

Aelin turned around completely and took a step closer to him, smiling up into his face. Rowan was fascinated by how her white teeth flashed through her parted crimson lips. Her scent hit him as she came to stop not even a hand’s breadth away from him, her usual aroma of lemon verbena and jasmine more intense than usual. She had probably just spritzed on some perfume.

“See something you like?” Aelin purred with a sly grin, knowing full well the effect she had on him.

“I don’t think this outfit is appropriate for church,” Rowan said a bit hoarsely. “They won’t have enough holy water at hand to douse the flames that will erupt when you strut by.”

Aelin’s grin widened and a faint flush crept over her cheeks, clearly happy with the compliment. “You don’t look too bad yourself, I dare say,” she said, giving him a slow and very appreciative once over.

Rowan shrugged. His plain shirt and pants look had nothing on Aelin, but she seemed to like it well enough. Her hands came up to tug at his bow tie and she busied herself with straightening it. Rowan didn’t know whether she was choking him or he had simply no air left to breathe with her being this close to him.

This was getting dangerous. When Aelin seemed satisfied with his bow tie and finally released it, Rowan took a step back to gather himself and put some distance between them.

“Seems like we both clean up well,” he said to dissipate the tension and offered her his arm for escort.

Smiling, Aelin took his elbow and led him lead her to his car.

* * *

The wedding took place at a small, quaint little church some way out of the city, and Aelin had insisted to drive his car, so Rowan had enough time to appreciate Aelin’s bare legs on the hour-long drive. He was convinced he wouldn’t survive the damn day. Since it would be a catholic wedding, Rowan almost hoped the priest would deny Aelin entry into the church and demand she wore something less revealing.

The day hadn’t even started and Rowan was already tired from fighting against himself and his urges. Aelin was killing him and her smug smiles told Rowan, she knew exactly what she did to him.

_We’re friends_ , he kept chanting silently in his head as they came closer and closer to their destination. _We’re friends_ , he repeated over and over, when they walked towards the church, his hand finding its way to the dip of her waist on its own. _We’re just friends,_ he reminded himself when his hands stayed glued at the small of her back as they made rounds greeting the other guests. _We’re friends_ , he tried to mentally transmit to everyone, who kept eyeing them curiously.

“Relax, will you,” Aelin scolded him, as they slid into a church bench being ushered inside.

Rowan turned to glower at her and found it a big mistake. He was instantly electrified by her angry stare. Gosh, how much he wished they could go behind the church and spar to get rid of this tension between them.

“I’m perfectly relaxed,” he lied boldly through his teeth.

Aelin snorted. “Sure you are. You’ve been freaking people out with your murder stares. Can you please not look at everyone like you can’t wait to gut them?”

Rowan huffed a humorless laugh and turned away, scooting a bit away from her. He would if he weren’t this damn nervous. “You should have brought another date.”

“I don’t want another date, Rowan. I want you!”

Rowan let out his breath with a hiss. He sounded like a tea-kettle releasing steam, and he sure was boiling right now. _She didn’t mean it like that, you idiot! We’re friends!_ But a tiny part of him wanted her to have meant it like he wished she had meant it. For her to want him as more than a friend.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try be a bit more amicable,” Rowan said, keeping his gaze firmly trained on the altar. He didn’t dare look at Aelin right now.

He flinched slightly, when her hand suddenly covered his in his lap. Rowan still didn’t look at her, but he couldn’t help it - he interlaced their fingers and held her hand throughout the whole service.

It was a beautiful service and the bride was a delight in her dress, even more beautiful in real life than she had been on the wedding invitation. Chaol was still as gruff looking as Rowan remembered him to be, but whenever he laid eyes on his bride, his face grew soft and a light entered his eyes, his whole being radiating pride and love. A tiny wave of jealousy hit Rowan when he imagined Aelin being the one standing on the dais, being looked at like this by Chaol, and he had to squeeze her hand to assure himself she was still sitting next to him and not in front, smiling up to her ex in a pretty white dress.

Rowan managed to keep it together until the sermon, but when the priest started preaching, he couldn’t resist looking at Aelin any longer.

_Love is looking at another person and finding yourself unable to look away from them. And in the beginning, much time is spent looking at each other and seeing nothing else but the love in front of you._

This resonated too deeply with what he was feeling, so Rowan turned his head to sneak a glance at the woman beside him - his best friend that he was in love with against his better judgement. But Aelin was already looking at him, her eyes teary and filled with emotion.

_But love is also about each of you looking forward, your eyes set on your own goals, not needing to look beside or behind you to check for your partner, because you know the other will be there by your side always._

Aelin’s throat bobbed and her chin quivered slightly and she squeezed Rowan’s hand firmly. He knew her mind had probably wandered back to every time when she had looked around her only to find her loved ones weren’t with her anymore. Her parents, Sam, Nehemia - in a way Chaol too.

Slowly, Rowan raised their interlaced hands and pressed his lips to the back of her hand, never breaking their eye connection. _I am here, Fireheart. I’ll always be here for you._

Aelin’s lips parted into a small smile and then her pearly white teeth sunk into her blood red bottom lip and she blushed adorably. A tiny tear escaped from the corner of her eye and Rowan gently brushed it away with his free hand before it could fall.

Aelin leaned closer and for a second Rowan panicked, thinking she would kiss him, but Aelin brought her mouth to his ear and whispered, “I’m also here for you, Buzzard. Always!”

When she pulled back, they exchanged a small smile and then Aelin turned back to the face the front, but Rowan was distracted by a motion behind them. The craned his neck to find Aedion and Dorian sitting in the bench behind them, grinning suggestively and giving him thumbs-up. Rowan hadn’t noticed they’d been sitting there. He gave them a mighty scowl, that only made them grin wider, and turned his back to them again.

_We’re friends. More than a lover, Aelin needs me as her friend. So I’ll be her friend. I can do this, just be her friend,_ Rowan chanted silently in his head, over and over again.

But the more he said it, the less he believed it himself.

* * *

“So when will we get the invite to _your_ wedding?” Aedion asked with a wolfish grin, joining him in the shade of a large chestnut tree where Rowan had withdrawn too, closely observing Aelin’s movement across the yard.

The wedding venue was held at a picturesque barn and they were currently all standing outside, enjoying the mild Spring weather and sparse sun, having drinks while they waited for the bride and bridegroom to be done with taking pictures.

Rowan didn’t respond, but instead glared at Aelin’s cousin, who had become a friend of Dorian’s, making him Chaol’s friend by default. Rowan hoped the newly-minted Mrs. Westfall was aware that her husband had a boyfriend she had to share his attention with.

“I mean, really, both you and Aelin keep giving me this ‘we’re just friends’ bullshit, but nobody in their right mind and with eyes to see can deny that there’s something more between you!”

“We’re not just friends, we’re best friends,” Rowan hedged.

“Best friends who eye-fuck each other all the way over the yard,” Aedion grinned and looked pointedly over to where Aelin was standing by the open bar with his girlfriend Lysandra and Dorian’s scary date Manon.

Just then, Aelin looked back towards them and smiled lasciviously, raising her drink in a silent salute before drinking deeply, as if she somehow had heard what they’d been talking about. Rowan cursed under his breath and looked away and Aedion barked a laugh, slapping Rowan on the back.

“Aelin is not interested in me like that,” Rowan remarked dryly, sipping his beer.

Aedion cut him a wry look. “Yeah, sure she isn’t.”

Rowan was about to snap a retort, but Aelin came walking over to them with Lysandra, both wobbling visibly on their feet. Rowan suspected it had more to do with their killer heels being rather impractical footwear on the gravel path than them being drunk already, but with the two of them, you never knew. Rowan’s hand shot out of its own accord to help steady Aelin as she reached them and she readily caught his arm, smiling up to him in thanks.

“They need us for some groups pictures now. We are to gather by that slope over there,” Lysandra announced, pointing to a grassy hill, where the outline of a heart had been mowed into the grass.

Rowan cringed. It was so very cheesy!

“The pictures are gonna be so sweet, our teeth will rot,” Aelin whispered conspiratorially and Rowan huffed a little laugh, one arm wrapping around her waist on its own, tucking her securely against this side.

_Only to steady her_ , he told himself. Rowan was well away, he was lying to himself. His self-control was in shreds, he couldn’t help but touch Aelin whenever she came close. Aedion’s gaze lingered on them for a second and he winked at Rowan with a broad grin. Rowan turned away, dismissing his friend’s suggestion. _Friends do this too!_

The photo session went on forever, the photographer eager to shoot them in every constellation imaginable, only boys, only girls, everyone in the picture, jumping on command, making funny poses, only family, only friends. Aelin and Lysandra wobbled dangerously up and down the hill on a few occasions, their stiletto heels sinking into the soft earth, making it dangerous for them to walk. But they stubbornly refused to take off their shoes.

“It’s an outfit,” Lysandra hissed when Aedion proposed taking off their shoes for the jump shoot at least.

Aelin’s glare had singed him before he could even open his mouth, so Rowan didn’t even dare to suggest she took off her red killer heels. Instead, he just held her close as they jumped, so he could catch her before her feet even connected with the ground and Aelin twisted her ankle.

For the final picture, they made all the guests stand inside the mowed-out outline of the heart, the married couple forming the tip. Each guest received a heart-shaped balloon they were supposed to let fly on the count of three. Chaol surprised them by unabashedly kissing his bride when the photographer called three, making not few people gape and gasp. Dorian face even twisted into a mask of slight discomfort.

Chaol wasn’t a candid person, apparently even his friends had never seen him so openly affectionate with anyone. Aelin gave a started giggle and shyly looked away, once she had worked through the first shock.

“That was great you guys! Very nice reaction! Can we turn that around please?” the photographer shouted. “Everyone please kiss the person next to you and the bride and bridegroom make disgusted faces!”

There was much giggling and shuffling, but Rowan was frozen in shock. They couldn’t mean for him to kiss Aelin, right? Maybe Aelin could kiss Lysandra on the cheek, and he and Aedion could -

“On the count of three! One… “

Aelin turned around and looked up to him, taking a step closer. No Aedion for him then.

“Two… “

A kiss on the cheek. Or the forehead. Yeah, that’s what he would do!

Aelin gripped his shoulders and raised herself slightly on her tiptoes, presenting her face to him. Rowan’s fingers had somehow found their way into her hair, cradling the back of her head.

“Three!“

A nervous smile played over Aelin’s lips, but Rowan could also see hunger and desire flickering in her eyes.

And then her gaze dropped to his lips and Rowan didn’t think - he kissed her fully on the mouth, firmly pressing his lips to hers.

She sighed and gripped his shoulders harder, pulling him further down towards her. And then she moved her lips against his, the simple press of their lips turning into an open-mouthed kiss and Rowan was gone, unable to hold himself back any longer.

Angling his head, he let his lips slide over hers. It was much like one of their sparring matches: each of them fighting for dominance, but actually balancing each other out perfectly. A low groan caught in his throat when Aelin pressed closer to him, arching her body into his, her hands sliding up into his hair and fisting the short strands.

“Okay thank you!” the photographer suddenly yelled, startling them out of their kiss.

Rowan had completely forgotten why they were kissing in the first place. He flinched and broke away, but Aelin didn’t let go completely. The hand that had been in his hair slid down to cup the back of his neck and she stared up at him with wide eyes, cheeks flushed and panting slightly.

Her lipstick was smudged, leaving no doubt whatsoever where his own mouth had been mere seconds ago.

_Shit, shit, shit. What did we just do?_

Panicking slightly, Rowan tried to put some distance between them, but Aelin gripped his shoulder and neck harder. “Don’t. Please Rowan!” she pleaded, her face anxious.

Rowan went still, unable to deny her anything and unable to look away. They continued staring at each other, unaware of what was going on around them.

“Your lipstick is smudged,” Rowan finally said, wiping with his thumb at the corner of her mouth in an attempt to clean up the mess they’d made.

Aelin released his neck to bring her fingers to his lips, brushing over them softly. “Yours is too,” she teased lightly.

His lips curled into a tight smile.

“Rowan –“

“Don’t! Don’t say anything!” he hastily interrupted, afraid to ruin the moment. What if she thought, this had been a mistake after all?

Aelin frowned, but then a mischievous glint sparked in her eyes and she smiled at him, the challenge unmistakably. “Make me then! Make me shut up Buzzard!”

Rowan expelled his breath in a great huff, producing something between a laugh and a groan and then proceeded to gag his best friend by putting his mouth back on hers.

After all, it seemed that not only did Aelin need a friendly favor, but a lover as well. And for Aelin, Rowan was more than willing to provide her with both.


	21. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***Nessian***
> 
> Based on this prompt:  
> Cassian acting like he's dying because he got the flu, Nesta taking care of him! Pleeaaase :D

He had struggled. He had fought. He really had.

But when Cassian tried to get up from the sofa where he had collapsed earlier, his body refused to follow his command.

He couldn't move. Couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. He was dying, Cassian was sure of it.

The doorbell rang again, and Cassian grunted in despair but was still unable to move.

“Nesta,” he whispered and tried to get up one more time, only to sink back onto the sofa with a throbbing head and closing his eyes against the pain.

He knew it was her on the other side of the door. How he wished, he could see her one last time. A lone tear stole from the corner of his eye, rolling down his temple and vanishing into his hair. If this were Cassian’s last moments on earth, he wanted to leave this life in the arms of his beloved. Not alone on his sofa.

“Cassian!”

Her sharp voice had him force open his heavy eyelids. There she stood, his Nesta, in all her fierce glory, the gaze from her steel-gray eyes piercing him, a frown marring her beautiful face.

_Damn, she is gorgeous!_

Shivers broke out all over Cassian's body, albeit they had probably more to do with his fever than with his lover's glare.

“Nes,” Cassian croaked. “How did you get in?”

She wordlessly held up a key. Right, the spare key Cassian kept hidden outside up on the door jamb. Az always said, Cassian was begging to be robbed, hiding the key to his apartment in such an obvious location, but today, it might very well have saved his life. Or allowed him one last look at the love of his life before he joined his ancestors in the afterlife.

“What's wrong with you?” Nesta asked, her frown deepening as she looked him up and down.

Cassian was still in his work clothes, although the shirt and slacks were now sweaty and wrinkled. As soon as he had managed to get home today, he had collapsed onto the sofa and hadn't moved since.

“I'm dying,” Cassian whispered around his sore throat.

Nesta gave an incredulous snort. “Of what. Stupidity?”

Ah, cruel, merciless Nesta. Cassian closed his eyes again, savoring the burn. Yes, he was a masochist. His grandfather, who Cassian was sure to meet soon in heaven, would totally approve. After all, there was nothing like a feisty woman at a man's side. But as long as he was still on this earth, he was determined to get as much of his Nesta as he could, so Cassian opened his eyes again.

Turning his aching body as best as he could so he could lay on his side, Cassian faced his girlfriend. “The flu. I think, I'm dying of the flu!”

His answer was met by utter silence on Nesta’s part. She stood rigid, not a hair on her body moving, and regarded him with a stony face. Then she blinked−once, twice.

“Ne−”

Before Cassian could utter her name, Nesta suddenly turned around and marched for the door.

_No, no, no!_

Panic surged up, flooding his body with adrenaline. Cassian scrambled to get up, only to collapse again when he was hit by a wave of dizziness. With great strain, he managed to prop himself up on one elbow and cry after her.

“Nesta!”

Nesta’ hand stilled in the doorknob and slowly, she turned around, her face carefully blank.

“Please don't leave me,” Cassian pleaded thickly.

For a few racing heartbeats, Nesta regarded Cassian in uncomfortable silence. Then she shook her head and dug around in her purse for something. The elbow he was resting on started to shake, but Cassian refused to go down again. Instead, he forced himself to sit up.  He had just managed to straighten himself, when something soft smacked against his forehead. Startled, Cassian stared at a packet of tissues that had bounced off his face and landed in his lap. Nesta must have thrown them at him.

When he raised his head to look at her, all he caught was a glance of the door closing behind her. The soft sound of the door snicking shut felt like a blow to his already queasy stomach.

She had left. He was alone.

With trembling fingers, Cassian pulled a tissue from the packet and blew his running nose. Then he pulled out another to dab away the tears that were now falling freely and plentiful.

That was it. He would die, alone and abandoned. Not even his Nesta wanted to bother with his sorry self!

Defeated, Cassian lay back in the sofa, pulling his knees to his chest, making himself as small as possible while clutching Nesta’s last gift−the tissues−to his heart. Cassian hoped, they’d bury the tissues with him.

* * *

Cassian must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because a muffled voice cut through the haze in his feverish brain, waking him up.  

“Yeah, same here. No, they are not dying, they are just being dramatic. Men! So typical! Puffing out their chests all the time and acting all hardcore, but the second they catch a cold, they turn into whimpering babies. Just tell him to suck it up!”

_Nesta! That is Nesta’s voice!_

For a second, Cassian thought he might have died, but then awareness came along with waking, letting him register his pitiful state. His body hurt worse than before, a dull throb harassed his head, and he was so cold, he was shivering.

With a groan, Cassian stretched his aching, stone-hard muscles and then opened his eyes. Nesta stood a few paces away, her back turned towards him. She was talking on the phone to someone. Undiluted joy coursed through Cassian.

_She came back!_

Cassian tried to call her name to make Nesta notice him, but his throat was raw and dry, so only a gurgled cry escaped. Nesta still heard it and turned. Cassian gave another cry, this one startled. Nesta's beautiful face was half hidden behind one of those surgical masks doctors wore sometimes. For a second, it scared the shit out of him, until his eyes found the well-known comfort of her icy glare over the mask.

“Feyre, I gotta go. Seems like my idiot is awake. I’ll catch you later!”

In true Nesta fashion, she hung up on her sister without waiting for her reply and shuffled closer to the sofa. Nesta’s gaze quickly swept over his body once and then she walked over to the dining table, where she seemed to have deposited her purse and a plastic bag. Cassian tried to make out the logo on the bag’s side, but his gaze was too blurry to focus. The fever must be eating his brain. Death was imminent! But at least Nesta was with him.

“You came back!” Cassian rasped.

Nesta snorted and didn’t reply.

“I was afraid, I had to die alone!” he continued.

“You’re not dying, you idiot! I swear, you and that ridiculous brother of yours are so dramatic! Feyre was freaking out over nothing on his behalf,” Nesta scoffed.

Her remark was accompanied by the soft crinkling of plastic as she rummaged through the shopping bag. It wasn’t loud, but the sound still hurt his ears slightly and made his already bad headache worse.

“I feel like I’m dying, tho,” Cassian whined. “It hurts so much, Nes!”

Nesta snorted again and, finally finding what she had been looking for, came back to the sofa. Bending over him, she pushed something hard into his ear. Cassian jerked his head away, swearing at the weird sensation and the consequent ache in his stiff muscles as he moved them so suddenly.

“Stay still!” Nesta chided and Cassian, ever the good boy, followed her command immediately. “Don’t move!” she ordered, but despite her harsh words, her voice was softer than usual. It was official−when even his Nesta was being sweet to him, he must be on his deathbed.

“What is that thing?” Cassian asked when Nesta inserted something into his ear again. Like she had asked, he remained perfectly still.

“A thermometer. I need to see how high your fever is,” she replied, never taking her attention off the tool she had inserted in his ear canal.

After a few seconds, the device beeped and Nesta took it out and straightened. She looked at it, then she glowered at Cassian, and looked at the thermometer again.

“How bad is it?” Cassian asked in a tremulous voice.

His body was sluggish and hot, but he was cold at the same time. His fever must be bad, because Cassian couldn’t remember the last time he had been this sick. He knew that anything over 41,5°C was life threatening and would potentially lead to his death. By the Cauldron, what if he was at that temperature already. Or even higher than that?

“Will I die?”

“38,5°C,” Nesta commented dryly. “And I hope you will, if only to relieve me of this burden that is your presence.”

Cassian gasped in shock. “Don’t jinx it, sweetheart! This might be my last day on earth! I’m in pain. Agony! My body feels like it’s boiling”

Nesta fixed him with a blank stare and then bend down over him again, ripping away the blanket Cassian hadn’t realized he was bundled up in. Nesta must’ve thrown it over him earlier.

“Get up!”

“But Nes, I−”

“Up I said!”

Reluctantly, Cassian heaved his hurting body upward and rose from the sofa. He made sure to groan and wince accordingly, so Nesta knew exactly just _how much_ he was hurting. When he stood in front of her, swaying slightly because of the fever-induced dizziness, she rolled her eyes and pointed with her outstretched arm towards his bedroom.

“You. Bed. Now!”

Cassian was inclined to follow up with a lewd joke, but he felt even too sick to jest around. Slowly, he dragged himself to the bedroom and was about to collapse onto the bed, when Nesta stopped him by gripping his elbow.

“No, strip first! Your clothes are all sweaty!”

Cassian tried to raise his arms to unbutton his shirt, but his limbs and head felt like they were filled with lead. Defeated, he let his arms fall to his side.

“I can’t, sweetheart. Feels all so heavy,” he mumbled, swaying softly on the spot.

Nesta rolled her eyes again and blew out an annoyed breath but, without hesitation, started stripping him efficiently. Then, with more tenderness than he expected, she pushed him down onto the bed by his shoulders. It was testament to Cassian’s state and that even then he didn’t utter a single innuendo. It also cemented his believe that he was about to die a slow and agonizing death.

Nesta pulled back the comforter so Cassian could get underneath it and then pulled it over him, so he was covered all the way to his neck. Then she put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Listen, this is what will happen: Your fever is nowhere near worrying, so for now you will rest and work up a good sweat. The fever actually helps your body fight against the virus, so we shouldn’t try to suppress it. If your fever gets higher, we can do some leg compresses and maybe you can take a pill to reduce it before sleeping. I’ll bring you some bottled water and heat some soup later and make no mistake, you will eat! For now, suck it up and sleep!”

A comfortable warmth that had nothing to do with his bed or the comforter washed over him

“Nes?”

“Yes?”

Cassian flashed her a tired smile. “I meant to ask before, but why are you wearing that mask?”

Nesta’s eyes pierced him over the rim of the surgical mask.

“Do you think I want to catch any of your idiot germs? Other than you, I don’t work for my lenient brother, so I can’t afford to get sick! And speaking of which,” Nesta pointed with her thumb behind her,” I’ll be in the living room, working. If you need anything, shout. But just to be clear, I will not give you a sponge bath, neither will I be feeding you or patting your head.”

To underline her words, she raised a threatening finger.

“I also won’t come anywhere near you as long as you’re playing host to a potentially deadly virus. If you need cuddles or shit like that, call Azriel, or Mor, or another member of your usual fanclub. It’s already annoying enough that I have to play nurse to a big baby like you, I won’t be inconvenienced any further. And Cassian”−Nesta took a deep breath−“I swear on the Cauldron’s rusty bottom, if I catch the damn flu from you, I’m going to crush your balls so hard, having a particularly bad case of blue balls will be nothing compared to the pain I will inflict upon you!”

Cassian inhaled a shuddering breath. To another person, Nesta’s words might have sounded harsh and heartless, but to Cassian, they sang one message loud and clear: _I am here, and I am taking care of you._

His Nesta would be right over in the other room, keeping an eye out for him while he rested, feeding him and checking up on him. She wouldn’t leave.

_I am not alone._

Cassian honestly couldn’t tell whether his speeding heartbeat and the tightness in his chest were due to his body fighting the sickness or Nesta. Probably the latter.

“Nes?”

“Yeah?”

Nesta had already started back towards the living room, but turned around to look at him, her hand on the door jamb.

“I love you!”

Nesta rolled her eyes, but if the red tips of her ears were anything to go by, she was blushing prettily under that mask of hers.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she scoffed and walked out, slamming the door on her way out. A second later the door opened again and Nesta left it cracked open slightly, probably so she could hear him out in the living room should Cassian call for him.

“I love you,” he shouted once more, loud enough that Nesta would hear it. Another annoyed huff told him, his confession had been received.

Smiling to himself, Cassian stared up at the ceiling. Being sick wasn’t that bad after all, not when you had your personal nurse. Not giving him a sponge bath? Please! He would be milking this flu for whatever it was worth if it meant getting Nesta to wipe down his naked body. And having Nesta taking care of him, minimized the chances of him dying greatly, so Cassian was actually slightly hopeful about the outcome of his flu.

_Sorry grandpa,_ he thought. _Seems like I won’t be joining you in the afterlife today._

With a happy sigh, Cassian closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, dreaming about that sponge bath he was determined to persuade his girlfriend to give him.


End file.
